


Stolen

by hopefulwriter27



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulwriter27/pseuds/hopefulwriter27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>En route to visit his family in Arizona, Kurt is kidnapped by an attractive stranger named Dave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: This story is loosely based from Lucy Christopher’s books, Stolen. If you haven’t read it, go do so. It’s great. It’s an AU of Glee.
> 
> I also want to thank traciamc for being an awesome beta and cheerleader, and celesteennui for creating the artwork for this baby.
> 
> Warnings: This is a fluffy piece. It’s angsty and dark, and I’m not promising a happy ending. If you’re not into that, don’t read.

**  
  
**   
**  
Part 1   
**

“Hold on Dad, I want a coffee,” Kurt says, raising his voice to be heard over the airport loudspeaker.

Burt stops, suitcase in hand. It bangs against his leg with the abrupt absence of motion. “Kurt, we’re going to be late to board the plane.”

“Didn’t you have coffee this morning?” Finn asks. His backpack bulges, full of necessities for their trip to Arizona. Carole pauses beside her son. Bags hang under her eyes, and her mouth is pulled tight.

“They serve coffee on the plane sweetie,” she says, looking down the long hallway. Gate 25B is at the apex of the curve that ends the north terminal of the Columbus airport.

“Carole, I know you’re tired and stressed out, so I’m willing to pretend you didn’t say that,” Kurt says snappishly. It’s six-fifteen in the morning, and after an hour drive to Columbus with a snoring Finn, Kurt’s not feeling too generous. A splash of muddy water covers the toes of his goldenrod boots, a gift from a late summer thunderstorm. His matching raincoat is dripping onto the legs of his pants, and his eyes feel heavy with lack of sleep. _I need a venti vanilla soy-latte,_ Kurt thinks. Finn yawns and Kurt gets a good look at a rainbow of mushed cereal stuck in his back teeth. _Pronto._

“Look, you guys go ahead. I’ll just get in line and meet you down there.” Wrinkles pucker in between Burt’s eyes, but before his dad can say anything Kurt adds, “I’ll be quick. There’s no one else even in line.” He motions towards the mostly abandoned Starbucks. There’s an elderly couple sitting at a small table quietly sipping on their drinks and a broad backed guy in a dark green hoodie standing off to the side, staring at the menu.

“Kurt…” Burt says with a sigh.

“Two minutes Dad,” Kurt says holding up his fingers. “Three at the most. They’re not even boarding the plane yet. I’ll be there in plenty of time.” _And if I don’t get my coffee I might murder Finn on the flight._ Burt must have read something in his son’s eyes, because he nods. Kurt grins victoriously.

“Two minutes,” Burt says, pointing his index finger in his son’s direction. “Two minutes or you’ll have to babysit Nellie when we get to Aunt Janice’s house.”

Kurt shudders, remembering the last time he’d seen Nellie. It had been a year and a half ago at the girl’s second birthday. Cake had ended up under Kurt’s nails, and he never did get the purple marker from his cashmere shirt. “Two minutes,” he repeats.

Burt nods again then leads the rest of the Hummel-Hudson gang down the long hall. Kurt watches them for a moment, reflecting on the strangeness that his life has become since his dad and Carole married six months ago. This visit to Arizona to see Burt’s sister is the first time that Carole and Finn will meet any of Kurt’s extended family. _It’s probably a good thing that Nellie was in the emergency room getting a penny out of her nose the day Dad got married,_ Kurt thinks as he makes his way towards the mini-Starbucks. _Carole might have run away screaming._

The guy in the green hoodie is still staring at the menu as Kurt slides up to the counter. Kurt glances from him to the tired looking barista shifting side-to-side. The guy looks to be in his mid-twenties, and though the hoodie hides most of his body, from the strength of his jaw, Kurt can tell the guy’s in good shape. “What can I get for you today?” The barista chirps, stealing Kurt’s attention.

He presses himself into the counter and without looking at the menu says, “Can I get a venti soy-latte with a shot of vanilla please?” Kurt thinks about the four hour flight and adds, “Actually, can I have an extra shot of espresso too?”

“Sure thing.” She pads her finger across the screen, entering Kurt’s order into the register. “Anything else?” Kurt shakes his head. “That will be five-fifteen.” 

 _If Dad saw I was paying five dollars for a cup of coffee he’d have a cow,_ Kurt thinks as he twists his bag to the front of his body. He unzips the front compartment and sticks his hand inside. His fingers touch his iPod and his emergency hand wipes before remembering that he gave Finn his wallet earlier. He had spent an eternity getting his liquids through the security check point, and Finn had more room in his bag. So Kurt had pocketed his license and shoved his wallet toward his step-brother for safekeeping. “I’m sorry,” Kurt says, staring at the barista in horror. “I don’t have my wallet. Can you hold that order until I come back with it?” She clenches her jaw but nods yes. _If I can come back,_ Kurt thinks with a frown. _Once I go down there I don’t know if Dad will let me come back._

“Here,” a voice says from behind him. A shiny blue Mastercard appears. “I’ve got it.” Kurt turns, following the calloused hand holding the card up to a thick green sleeve. It’s the guy in the hoodie. “Can you add a small regular coffee to that too?” The stranger has a soft mid-western accent. His voice is gruff, as if he doesn’t spend much time talking.

The barista nods, smiling again, and takes the card. “Sure thing. That’s nice of you.” The right edge of Green Hoodie man’s mouth tilts upwards. 

“Thank you,” Kurt says, appreciation evident in his voice. Other than his dad, and occasionally Carole and Finn, Kurt’s not used to people being nice to him for no reason, especially once they figure out he’s gay. _And that doesn’t take most people long._ The thought leaves a bitter trace in his mind, and Kurt doesn’t want that. _A good-looking guy just bought you a coffee. It’s kind of like a date._ Kurt’s pretty sure that thought is nowhere near the other guy’s mind.

Green Hoodie guy sticks his hands into the long pocket of his hoodie and says, “No problem.” He smiles again, both sides of his mouth this time, then bobs his head. “I’m Dave.” A heartbeat passes, then as if suddenly remembering his manners, Dave sticks out his hand.

“Kurt.” Dave’s hand is clammy, but his grip is strong and firm. Kurt can feel the roughness of his skin. _He probably works with his hands._ Burt has similar calluses on his thumbs and palms from working with battered car parts. Kurt’s skin is baby smooth in comparison.

“Nice to meet you Kurt,” Dave says.

Kurt goes to drop his hand, but Dave holds on for an extra second. His thumb brushes by Kurt’s pulse point before letting go.  His eyes bore into Kurt’s, and Kurt thinks, _Maybe I’m wrong about that date thing._ The thought sends a pleasant tingle through his spine. _He’s way too old for you,_ Kurt tells himself, which is true. _He’s got to be at least twenty-three, if not older._ Kurt’s ‘Sweet Sixteen’ birthday cards are still sitting in his room, cluttering his bookshelf and desk.

The barista calls out their drinks, even though they’re the only ones there. The elderly couple has wandered off, leaving Dave and Kurt to an empty seating area. Dave goes up to get the drinks. He takes one in each hand and says, “Do you want any sugar or anything in your drink?

Normally, the shot of vanilla adds enough sweetness for Kurt’s taste, but with the extra espresso, the drink will be more bitter than normal. “An Equal will be fine, thanks.” Dave heads towards the side counter where the creamer, sugar, and other additives live. Kurt settles down at the table farthest from the Starbucks counter. He glances at his watch.

 _My two-minute mark is up._ He leans over, glancing down the hall to see if anyone is coming for him. He can see a hoard of people down by his gate, waiting for the boarding announcement, no Dad, Carole or Finn in view. Kurt flicks his gaze back to Dave. The guy is stirring Kurt’s drink. He tosses the stirrer and pops off the lid to his own coffee. Twisting his head, he catches Kurt’s stare and smiles again. For a moment, a flash of familiarity passes over Kurt, but then Dave turns back around and the feeling drifts away. _I’d remember meeting a guy with shoulders like that,_ Kurt thinks.

Dave shuffles over and slides Kurt’s coffee across the tabletop. Creamy brown liquid splatters from the tiny drinking hole, marring the pure whiteness of the lid. He takes the seat opposite of Kurt, holding his smaller drink between his palms. Kurt lifts his coffee and takes a small sip. Heat bursts across his tongue, followed by the bitter taste of the coffee. “I think it could use another sugar,” Kurt says, mouth hovering over his drink. Dave nods, but doesn’t move. The bottom of Kurt’s cup bumps against the table.

“So, what brings you to the airport this fine morning?” Kurt asks, motioning towards the large windows on the other side of the hall. It’s not pouring anymore, but rain still trickles down like tears. Dawn is already edging towards day. Planes of varying sizes putter outside the gate, guided by men in orange gear and flashing red sticks.

Dave smiles, that same half-one he gave the barista, and says, “Just waiting for someone.”

“Oh, a relative?” Kurt asks. He takes another mouthful of his coffee. The bitter taste isn’t as strong this time. He drinks again. The tang of vanilla sits at the tip of his tongue.

“Nope,” Dave says. He still hasn’t drunk any of his coffee. Kurt’s starting to wonder if Dave just bought it as an excuse to make contact. The guy definitely isn’t a charmer, despite the fact his eyes seem to magically flash from brown to green every time the sun fights its way through the clouds.

Kurt thinks about what to say next. He fills his mouth with coffee to buy time. Then he says, “Waiting for a girlfriend?” Dave shakes his head. Feeling daring, Kurt says, “Boyfriend?

A real smile appears this time and Dave lifts his eyes to Kurt’s. “No. I’m unattached.”

“Oh, I find that hard to believe,” Kurt flirts. Red touches Dave’s tanned cheeks, and Kurt’s skin begins to tingle.

Not moving his gaze from Kurt, Dave says, “I’ve been waiting for the right person.” The words are meant to be flirtatious, at least Kurt thinks they’re supposed to be, but there’s a dark seriousness to Dave’s voice. A hint of uneasiness settles into Kurt’s stomach. He swallows down more coffee to hide the feeling.

Suddenly, a female voice is shouting Kurt’s gate number throughout the terminal. “Oh,” Kurt says, grasping at a chance to leave. “That’s me. I’ve got to go.” He reaches for his bag and stands. A wave of vertigo hits him hard.

“Are you okay?” Dave asks.

Wide hands touch Kurt’s wrist, but Kurt shakes them away. “I’m fine. I just stood up too fast.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, dizziness crashes through him. He stumbles forward into the table, jarring his coffee to its side. Kurt watches the liquid spread across the table like blood from a wound. Then the image blurs.

“Here, let me help you,” Dave whispers at Kurt’s side.

 _How did you get there?_ Kurt thinks, amusement bubbling in his chest. Dave takes Kurt’s bag and slings it over his shoulder then wraps one arm around Kurt’s waist. His fingers press into Kurt’s side. Kurt wiggles away from the sensation, laughing. “Stop it. That tickles.” He snorts, something he’d normally never do in the company of others. Dave’s grip tightens, the pressure of his hand going from gentle to hard.

“Come on,” Dave rasps in his ear. Kurt leans into the taller man beside him. His legs aren’t working properly.

“Where are we going?” Kurt asks. His head rolls to the side. The advertisement decorating the airport walls shine with a strange light.

Dave shifts his arm lower. His fingers dig into Kurt’s hip. “To the bathroom.”

“I have to get on the plane,” Kurt says. “My family is waiting.” His head whacks into Dave’s shoulder. The muscle beneath that green hoodie is hard enough to send a throb of pain through Kurt’s temple.

“They’ll wait for you,” Dave tells Kurt. “Besides, I think you need to splash some water on your face.”

 _Cool water does sound nice_ , Kurt thinks. His skin feels hot, and if Dave just stops for a moment he’d take off his raincoat. A kid runs by them, shouting, and Kurt’s stomach rolls. _And a toilet to puke my guts out sounds pretty amazing too._ Except, they pass by the men’s restroom. “Hey,” Kurt cries. 

Dave twists, and Kurt half falls onto the man’s chest. “Shh,” he murmurs. “That bathroom is out of order. We’re going to the one further up the way.” Kurt doesn’t remember seeing a closed sign on the door, but everything is spinning. He can’t think properly.

“Okay,” he agrees. They walk up the hall, Dave holding Kurt’s weight. Time blurs, and suddenly Kurt is opening his eyes to off-white floor tiles and empty bathroom stalls. Two taped off urinals are pressed against the far wall. Something yellow flashes in the corner of his eye; Kurt follows the color. _That’s my raincoat._

Hands tug at his vest. Kurt closes his eyes again, but opens them as air-conditioning touches his bare chest. “What?” He’s no louder than a mouse.

“Here,” a voice says from beyond. Then Dave’s lifting his arms and slipping on a blue cotton t-shirt.

“What are you doing?” Kurt mumbles. Fingers slide through his hair, pulling some of it forward to hang before his face.

“We’re playing a game, remember?” Dave whispers, breath hot against Kurt’s skin. A thumb slips below the edge of his pants and Kurt stumbles backwards. “Hey, hey,” Dave holds up his hands. “I told you. I’m not going to hurt you.” Kurt doesn’t believe him, but his limbs are trembling, and he feels as weak as a kitten. With Dave’s hands in the air, Kurt tumbles forward.

Strong hands catch him before he falls. “You’re just putting on these jeans. Remember? For our game?” Kurt doesn’t remember, and he doesn’t want to put on the jeans, but he can’t stop Dave from tugging down his pants. The room begins to spin. Kurt squeezes his eyes shut. He feels his feet being lifted, one by one, then the rough drag of denim scratches across his legs. The jeans are stiff, as if they were washed with too much starch.

A baseball cap is shoved on his head, securing his hair over his eyes. The bill of the cap shades his vision even more. Dave urges Kurt upwards, but the teen can’t get legs to work. He feels like is heart is pumping poison into his system, sending heat and sickness everywhere, all the while sapping his energy.

Kurt hears Dave sigh, and then he’s being picked up, carried like a rescued princess. His head rests against Dave’s chest. Dave has one arm under Kurt’s shoulders and the other under his legs. Kurt’s stomach rolls, and he closes his eyes to quell the nausea. The world passes in a rumble of blurred sound. At one point Kurt hears Dave say, “Yeah, he’s a bad flyer. Got drunk on the plane… kind of early, I know.”

A raindrop hit’s Kurt’s nose. Kurt opens his eyes and stares at the moving wall of yellow cabs. He feels Dave’s muscles shift beneath him. Red flashes before him, a car door opens, and then he’s lying across the backseat of a sedan. That new car smell tickles his nose. The car jolts as the driver’s side door slams shut. Kurt’s head rolls forward. Dave’s eyes, now green, meet his. The man shifts away. The car whirrs alive. Kurt feels the rumble of the engine beneath his body.

He closes his eyes again. The world fades away.


	2. Chapter 2

** Part 2  **

Smell and sound return before sight. Humidity chokes the air and carries a woodsy scent that reminds Kurt of the maple tree that grew in front of his old house. There’s rustling, like wind through leaves, and the pitter-patter of rain against a building. Kurt’s mouth is completely dry. His tongue sticks to the top, and his throat aches. His arms and legs feel heavy, as if they’re weighed down by bricks. 

_ I’m in a bed,  _ is Kurt’s first coherent thought. He can tell it’s not his bed. For one, the mattress is beyond firm. The pillow beneath his head is too fluffy, as if it’s never been used before. The sheets below him and the blanket above him are both cotton blends, not Kurt’s normal Egyptian cotton silky pieces of heaven. With that realization dawning, it occurs to Kurt that he’s naked. His eyes snap open and he sits up. 

The room spins. The little light coming from the window high on the left hand wall blurs away, and Kurt’s vision darkens. Kurt forces himself to take deep breaths. Eventually his ears stop pounding, his eyes watering. 

The first thing he sees is the outline of his legs under a pale blue blanket. It’s one of those the airlines use, small, light, with rough fabric. Panicked, Kurt lifts the blanket and stares at his bare body, searching for evidence of foul play. He doesn’t hurt, but his whole being feels both tingly and numb at the same time, so he’s not sure he’d feel anything direr. 

“I didn’t rape you,” a voice says from side of the bed. Kurt’s breath catches in his chest as fear convulses through his body. His gaze locks onto the man sitting in the wooden chair against the wall. “I wouldn’t do that.” 

_ Dave,  _ Kurt’s brain provides helpfully. He stares at Dave, whose green hoodie is gone. The man, though he’s looking younger than before, is wearing a loose fitting t-shirt. Sweat stains darken the brown fabric around the underarms and collar. Worn jeans cling to his legs. Heavy workman boots cover his feet. 

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Dave says, rising. A plain silver chain sways around neck. He comes towards Kurt. Kurt scrambles backwards until his back smacks into the headboard and his left hand meets the edge of the bed. “Here,” Dave says softly, holding out a water bottle. 

Kurt’s throat screams for a drink. He doesn’t move. Dave lays the water on the bed and retreats to the chair. He doesn’t sit down. They’re at a standstill for a moment, but Kurt’s dry mouth wins. He slowly reaches forward, eyes never leaving the big man. The bottle is warm in his hand. It hasn’t seen a fridge for some time, if ever. The plastic lid twists off easily. 

The water is almost to his mouth when thunder booms and the room shakes. Water topples onto Kurt’s hand and a thought occurs. _It’s probably drugged._ Kurt screams and throws the bottle at Dave. 

Surprise flashes across the man’s face as water splashes everywhere. He raises his hands to stop the bottle from hitting his face. Kurt heaves himself off the bed. His legs fail for a second, and his knees slam into the wooden floor. The pain is a catalyst. He hurls himself up and runs. 

The cabin, for that’s what is obviously is, wooden walls and furniture, flashes before him. Kurt scans for a front door. It’s easy to spot in the giant room that serves at the living space and kitchen. Legs pumping, Kurt heads straight for it, praying that the door is unlocked. 

It is. 

He yanks the thick door open, arms screaming at that little bit of activity. Kurt steps outside, onto the wide wooden beamed porch. The overhang of the cabin blocks the weather, but now that he’s outside Kurt realizes how hard it’s raining. The howling shriek of the wind and the thrumming of the rain are deafening. 

He glances over his shoulder, checking for his kidnapper. The inside of the house is dim. Two lanterns brighten the living area. A shadow appears at the edge of the hall. Kurt fumbles down the steps of the porch. The ground mushes under his toes; rocks and sticks poke his tender feet through the mud. Kurt doesn’t care. He runs. 

A forest stretches out in every direction, endless trees towering high above Kurt’s head. He weaves through the trunks, low branches pinching his skin. Brushes claw at his legs. Eventually, Kurt loses his breath and he has to stop. He bends, hands clenching his own thighs in effort not to collapse. 

_ Where am I? _ The thought hitches in his lungs. A sob rips from his throat. He lifts his head and tries to take in his surroundings. There are no lights, no buildings, so sounds of cars or civilization. It’s hard to make out anything more than the wilderness. Rain drenches his hair, his skin. He has nothing to protect him. Tears mix with rain. 

A roar, louder than the thunder, louder than anything Kurt’s ever heard, tears through the air. Kurt whips his head around. Fear fills every pour before he sees it. Then he blinks, and a large shape forms a dozen feet to his right. _It’s a moose,_ Kurt thinks hysterically. He laughs, mouth open, because that thing is _big_. “Hello,” Kurt says conversationally then laughs again.  The sound dies in his throat as the moose roars again and throws its head. _Your antlers are very big._

Kurt steps backwards. The moose freezes then stomps the ground with its front hoof. _I was kidnapped and now I’m going to be killed by a moose._ Somehow that seems funny, so Kurt laughs again. The adrenaline from his run is wearing off and he feels incredibly tired. _I’m going to be torn apart by antlers then stomped to death. Naked._ Full-body chuckles rumble Kurt’s chest. 

Then he begins to cry. 

Hands touch his shoulders and back. “Shh,” Dave whispers. He pulls Kurt back into his chest and says, “Don’t move. It will be okay. He won’t get you.” Dave stands still behind him. His fingers move in slow, repetitive circles against Kurt’s skin. Kurt wants to run again, or even be killed by the moose, but he’s so tired. His stomach hurts. He closes his eyes. 

Sometime later, Kurt feels Dave pick him up, same princess hold as before. He opens his eyes. The forest passes by in a blur of brown, green and black. Rain drips into his mouth, hits his nose. He turns his face into Dave’s wet shirt, trying not to drown. The cabin fuzzes clear for a brief moment, but blurs away soon after. 

Then the world disappears. Again.    


	3. Chapter 3

When Kurt awakens in that bed the second time, he feels less groggy and more sharp-witted. He sits up. A lightweight, faded Bon Jovi t-shirt hangs mid-thigh, two-sizes too big, and even though he can’t see them, Kurt feels the briefs against his skin. His feet are wrapped in bandages. The skin of his legs and arms are sticky with some sort of ointment. Under the shine of the salve, his flesh looks scratched to pieces. 

The rain has stopped. Kurt doesn’t know how long he was out, but it was long enough for the humidity to drop a level. It’s easier to breathe, despite the stuffiness of the bedroom. Bright sunlight shines through the window. Kurt looks around, taking in the room. 

Dave isn’t there. That’s the first thing Kurt notices. The bedroom door is closed, and for the moment he lets it be.  _Don’t want to let him know I’m awake,_ Kurt thinks. He swings his legs off the side of the bed. He still feels weak. Pain flares through his feet as they touch the floor. Wincing, Kurt scoots back until they hover. 

The bed is twin sized, covered in a simple blue sheet with two matching pillows and that airplane blanket. There’s a chest at the end of the bed. Kurt drapes his body across the mattress and tugs open the lid. There are more blankets inside, as well as a bare pillow. Kurt shuts the chest quietly. There are matching wooden nightstands on either side of the bed. The craftsmanship is beautiful. The wood is stained dark brown; the design is simple and sharp. Golden handles stick out from the three drawers on each stand. 

Kurt looks inside each drawer. The nightstand to his left is full of tissue boxes. The top drawer holds an empty hand-held cd player and headphones, a value pack of batteries, and a huge tub of whatever is on Kurt’s skin. The bottom two drawers of the right nightstand hold sheets. The top drawer has bottle of lubrication. Kurt shoves it shut and wraps his arms around his stomach. 

He feels light-headed.  _I need to get out of here._ He stands, ignoring the shout of his feet, and heads toward the window. It’s small, but Kurt’s not that big. He might be able to pop out the screen and slip through. The larger dresser opposite of the bed would lift him high enough to crawl out, but it’s sturdily built and heavy. Kurt can’t move it without taking out all the drawers and making a lot of noise. So, he settles for the wooden chair. 

He sticks it the under the window and stands on the seat. He can lay his hands flat against the windowsill. The window opens inward and up. Kurt props it open with a thin wooden beam resting in the edge of the window frame. A cool breeze trickles inside. Kurt breathes deep and immediately feels better.  _Now to get the screen out._  He digs his fingernails underneath the metal frame of the screen and jiggles it loose. It doesn’t take long for one side to pop. Kurt tosses the screen to the bed and sticks his hand outside. His head quickly follows.  _It’s not that far from the ground,_ he thinks triumphantly. Ten feet or so.  _I’ll pull myself through, hang down and drop to the ground._ Bracing one hand on the windowsill, he tries to get a shoulder through the opening, but it doesn’t fit. Kurt twists, trying a different direction, then he tries his other shoulder. He tries until his arms begin to ache from the strain. He tries until he’s sure dark bruises are forming on his shoulders. Defeated, he crumples into the chair. He curls into a ball, resting his forehead against his knees and sobs. 

“Are you hungry?” Kurt whips his head up fast enough to make his neck twinge. Dave is by the door, tray in his hand. Kurt can see the steam rising from whatever’s in the bowl. A clear glass cup with murky water sits beside the bowl. Dave comes forward and sets the tray on top of the dresser. “I made oatmeal,” he says as if Kurt isn’t cowering a few feet away. Dave sticks his hands into his pockets. He’s wearing the same jeans as before, now with mud at the cuffs and calves. A black wife beater shows off the well-defined muscles of his arms. His eyes are brown. “I know it’s not glamorous or anything, but I figured your stomach might be tender.” 

“That’s what happens when you’re drugged,” Kurt spats before his mind can catch his mouth. 

Wrinkles crinkle around Dave’s eyes and he looks down. His shoulders go stiff. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to drug you, but I had to.” His eyes flicker to Kurt then back down to the floor. “Why don’t you eat? Then you can change and if you’re feeling up to it I’ll show you around.” 

_ I don’t want to go anywhere with you,  _ Kurt thinks frantically.  _I’m not eating anything you give me._ This time his brain is working so he doesn’t say any of that aloud. However, fear and a morbid curiosity make him lick his dry lips and ask, “What are you going to do with me?” Kurt imagines being cut into pieces and left in the forest for the animals to find. He shudders.

“What do you mean?” Dave asks. The confusion in his voice forces Kurt to look at his captor and stare. His eyes are drawn together and a frown pulls his mouth downwards. 

“Are you…” Kurt begins. A rock pushes into his lungs. He forces himself to continue. “Are you going to kill me?” 

Horror washes over Dave’s face. “No!” he utters. He steps forward, pulling his hands from his pockets. “No. I’d never hurt you.” 

The raw honesty in his voice tears holes in Kurt’s chest. Tears spill over his eyes as anger fills him like air. “You’ve already hurt me!” he shouts. 

Dave’s shoulders hunch and he looks at Kurt sadly. “I’ll leave you to eat.” He disappears. Kurt storms forward and slams the door shut. There’s no lock. He glances at the tray on the dresser. He picks it up and throws it against the wall. The wooden bowl doesn’t break, but the clear glass does. Water and oatmeal splatter everywhere. Tears blur Kurt’s vision. He screams and kicks the chest. Pain lances up his foot. It’s possible he’s broken some toes. He doesn’t care. 

He throws himself on the bed and grabs the airplane blanket. He twists the fabric between his fingers. It doesn’t rip. He screams again. Then he buries his face in the rough fabric and cries. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

** Part 4 **

Time passes. How much, Kurt doesn’t know. The light from the window moves lower in the room. Dave comes back and with a glance at Kurt, cleans up the spilled food and broken glass. Kurt watches him from the bed. He putters around the room, placing the screen back in the window and setting another cup of water on one of the nightstands. It’s in a wooden cup this time. Kurt doesn’t bother to drink. His eyes burn, but he’s cried all his tears.

Later on, once the sun sets, Dave comes back in with another tray of food. There’s some sort of sandwich on homemade looking bread. An apple sits next to the sandwich. Kurt watches as Dave sets the tray down on the nightstand next to the still full cup. He disappears from the room for a second and returns with a lantern. Its flame flickers brightly in the dark room. Shadows are cast across Dave’s face. He settles into the chair. Kurt doesn’t move. He says nothing.

Dave sighs. “I know you’re scared. I’m sorry I frighten you, I really don’t want to.” He rubs his palms down his jeans. “You have to eat.” He motions to the food.

“I don’t have to do anything.” Kurt’s voice is hoarse. 

“You’ll get sick, die, if you don’t eat.”

A humorless laugh bubbles from Kurt’s lips. “Why do you care? You’re just going to kill me anyway.” 

The chair scratches across the floor with the swift forcefulness of Dave’s rise. “Why do you say that?” he growls. “I told you I’m not going to kill you!” 

Kurt’s breaths come in quick, little pants. “Why else would you kidnap me?”

Some of the fury drifts from Dave’s eyes. “I was lonely. You… I rescued you.” 

“What?” Kurt sits up straighter. 

“You heard me.” Dave runs a hand through his short, mud-colored hair. “Look, just eat your dinner and get some sleep. I’m sure you’re tired. I’ll show you around tomorrow morning.” He catches Kurt looking at the food and adds, “It’s not drugged. I promise.”

He leaves the lamp burning on the dresser and walks from the room, shutting the door softly behind him. An idea forms in Kurt’s brain.  _When he comes for me tomorrow morning I’ll bash him in the head with the lantern and run. It will be easier to see in the light._ The plan settles Kurt’s stomach. He reaches for the tray and stares at the food for a second. If he’s going to make his escape he’s going to need his strength.

Kurt tears off corner of the sandwich and takes a tentative bite.  _Peanut butter and jelly_ _. _  The bread is hard to chew. It tastes like rye that’s been left out of the bag too long. By the time he starts on the apple Kurt’s jaw aches. He gulps down the water. It’s warm and leaves a rusty aftertaste in his mouth. He spends a half hour worrying he’s been drugged. When he still feels clear-headed he worries that he’s going to get salmonella or e-coli or something.

Letting the oil and wick burn, Kurt settles against the headboard and readies himself for no sleep. He knows it’s probably smarter to get some rest before running, but the thought of Dave sneaking in while he’s asleep to do… whatever… leaves Kurt cold.

Determination resolves in his stomach.  _I’m going to get out of this._ His dad always said he was as stubborn as a mule. The thought of his Dad sends a pang of longing through him.  _Dad is looking for me right now._ This Kurt knows.  _Carole and Finn too._ There are probably police and sniffer dogs all over searching.  _I’ll find the nearest town. Talk to the police and get Dave arrested._ Kurt wonders if the guy will get the death penalty. Kurt wonders if he’s kidnapped other boys.  _They’re probably buried in the forest._

Thoughts cycle through his head all night. It’s not a pleasant time. 

*** 

Kurt wakes with a start as fingers caress his forehead. Dave’s face looms above him. The scent of dirt and greenery mixed with sweat clogs Kurt’s nose. He scrambles upwards, almost bashing his face into Dave’s. Fortunately, the man leaps back.

“What are you doing?” Kurt screeches. His eyes flick to the nightstand. The lantern is still there, wick long burned away. The room is filled with sunlight, both from the window and the wide-open door.

Dave raises his hands and says, “Sorry, you looked so peaceful sleeping.” 

“So you decided to molest me?” Kurt snaps. His body aches. His eyes want to drift shut. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. 

Dave clenches his jaw. His mouth pulls into something that looks like an angry pout. Then he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Moments later he opens them again and stares at Kurt. “I see you ate.” His words sound like a question, or an opening for a discussion. Kurt looks at the window and doesn’t bother with a response. A sigh bounces off the walls.

“Come on,” Dave says, tugging at the blanket around Kurt’s legs. Kurt grabs the top, stopping him from pulling it off. It’s not that Kurt really want the scratchy thing. He’s already sweating. The cabin holds heat the way a sponge holds water. However, the blanket is a strange comfort, giving Kurt a small sense of safety.

_ False safety,  _ he thinks viciously. Dave tugs at the edge of the blanket again. Kurt kicks his feet at the guy’s hands.

That frown appears on Dave’s face again. “You need to get out of bed. We’re going to eat breakfast and then I’m going to show you around.” Kurt can hear the command in the words. Dave lets go of the blanket and runs a hand through his hair. Flecks of dried mud puff from his hair at the motion. They flutter to the floor. Kurt watches sullenly. “Get some clothes on and join me in the kitchen.”

Dave leaves. Kurt takes a deep breath. He slides from the bed then shuts the door. It closes with a click. He turns, resting his back against the smooth wood.  _Your plan can still work,_ Kurt tells himself. The lantern is there, on the nightstand. Kurt goes and picks it up. It’s not overly heavy, but it is glass. Kurt’s pretty sure that even a big guy like Dave will go down with bash to the head. Kurt sets the lamp aside.

He heads towards the dresser. Dave didn’t say that the clothes were in there, but since there isn’t a closet in the room Kurt figures the dresser is the place to go. It’s a large thing, maybe five feet long. The top ledge comes to Kurt’s chest. There are five drawers that span the whole front. It is obviously made by the same person who did the nightstands. The wood is stained that dark brown and the handles are burnt gold.

Kurt starts at the bottom. The fifth drawer slides open with little effort. Rows of neatly paired white socks line the right. The left holds four rows of underwear- blue, black, red, and white. Kurt shoves the drawer shut. Sweat pools in his palms. He bites his lip and opens the fourth drawer. There is nothing but jeans. All are in Kurt’s size. The third drawer is half filled with black dress pants and half with tan khakis.

_ Two more,  _ Kurt thinks as he moves the pants out of sight. The second drawer holds rows of shirts. There is more variety here. There are some long-sleeve shirts as well as t-shirts. The tops are a rainbow of colors. Kurt slides the drawer closed. He takes a deep breath and opens the final drawer. His heart stutters.

Hands trembling, Kurt reaches inside and starts touching the different clothes. The cashmere sweater is soft beneath his fingers. The silver v-neck shirt glitters. A leather Marc Jacobs belt is curled in the back corner. Kurt reaches back to touch it, but his thumb snags on a silky purple scarf. He takes it out.

The tag is missing, but Kurt recognizes it anyway. It’s been around his neck many times while shopping at Nordstrom’s. His dad had vetoed the thing on the fact it cost twice as much as a meal for four at Breadsticks. Kurt had always set it back on the display with great reverence and promise to buy it one day.

He throws it into the drawer and slams the thing shut.

“Are you okay?” Dave’s voice filters through the closed door. 

“Fine," Kurt calls back, not wanting the guy to come inside. He hears Dave’s footsteps and grabs the first thing that comes to mind. “I was just wondering if there’s a bathroom around here.”

Dave’s tone is light when he replies. “Yeah, it’s the first door on the left outside your room.” More footsteps, heading away this time. 

Kurt takes a deep breath.  _Okay,_ he tells himself, Put _on some pants._ He doesn’t see any shoes anywhere, so he’ll have to hoof it in socks. His feet already hurt, so the thought isn’t appealing.  _Staying here is less appealing._ He opens the drawer with the jeans again and tugs out a pair. They fit perfectly. Kurt’s stomach rolls. He goes to the nightstand and picks up the lantern. 

He listens by the door for a moment. Pretty sure that Dave isn’t hovering on the other side, Kurt tentatively pulls it open. The smell of greasy bacon hits him on the nose. Bile rushes up his throat.  _Maybe stopping by the bathroom isn’t a bad idea._ Now that Kurt is looking, he sees three doors along the hallway. Two are on the left, one on the right. He heads towards the first door on the left. 

It’s a decent sized bathroom. A long counter goes halfway down one wall. A clean white sink, looking more like something seen in a kitchen instead of a bathroom, dips low on the left-hand side of the counter. A medicine cabinet is hung above. A long mirror stretches across the rest of the counter space. As Kurt catches his reflection, he quickly looks away. 

The floor is wooden and creaks under Kurt’s feet. A plush blue rug tickles his toes in front of the sink as Kurt walks further into the room. He closes the door behind him. A matching blue seat cover and floor rug are settled on and below the toilet. The most surprising part of the bathroom is the tub. It’s one of the claw ones that Kurt’s fantasized having when he owns a mansion. Piping rises above the tub, nailed to the wall. Golden feet, handles and a spout make the tub out of place in this forest cabin.

Not to mention it’s huge.  _Easily large enough fit two grown men,_ Kurt thinks. He twists around, and focuses on the toilet instead. His pulse pounds in his ears as he relieves himself. When he turns on the sink, murky water chugs out. Kurt grimaces as he picks up the bar of soap lying next to the sink and washes his hands.  

When he finishes he picks up the lantern and catches himself in the mirror. This time he looks. Kurt’s reflection horrifies him.  _I look dead._ Scratches mar his skin. The shirt he’s wearing hangs off his frame, making him look like a skeleton. His eyes look sunken and bruised. Grief swells in his chest and throat.  _Don’t cry. Don’t cry._ He turns his back on the mirror.  _Go knock that monster out and get out of here._

Kurt clutches the lantern in his hand and opens the door. Every step winds him tighter and tighter. Kurt feels like he’s about to shatter into a thousand pieces. The living room is empty. The table that separates kitchen from living space holds two place settings. There are freshly picked orange poppies sitting in a tall wooden cup between the two plates.

Dave’s back is facing Kurt. His kidnapper stirs something that smells like eggs above a coil-wired gas stove. He doesn’t turn around as Kurt comes closer. 

“You can sit down at the table if you want,” Dave says. Kurt freezes. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Okay,” Kurt replies. Dave still doesn’t turn around. Kurt moves closer. His thigh brushes the back of one of the kitchen chairs as he passes by. He clutches the lantern tighter and lifts it higher. Dave twists off the burner and lifts up the pan. He’s turning towards Kurt when Kurt strikes. 

He swings the lantern across the back of Dave’s head. Surprise flashes across his face. The pan of eggs clatters to the floor. Dave groans. “What?” he mumbles, lifting his fingers to his scalp. Blood flows into his hair and down his neck. For one long second, Kurt’s sure that he didn’t hit hard enough. 

Dave staggers forward. 

Kurt jumps back. Then Dave groans again and tumbles to the floor.

_ RUN! _  Kurt’s brain screams.

He runs.


	5. Chapter 5

** Part 5 **

He doesn’t bother with closing the front door. He stumbles down the front steps, feet screaming as he moves from the wooden planks to the pebbled, stick-filled ground. Kurt wants to run blindly. The need to be away, to be safe, is overwhelming. But last time running blindly found Kurt with a raged moose then back in prison. 

_ Stop. Look.  _ His chest pounds, though he’s barely begun his escape. The sun shines cheerfully, and a glittering flash of silver catches Kurt’s eye. He whips his head to the right, searching for the cause of the shimmer. 

It’s a shed. Tin roof, wooden walls, a skinny door with a large padlock. Kurt beelines straight for the building thinking,  _Maybe there’s a phone in there. Or a computer. Something useful._ He yanks on the lock, but it stays firmly closed. He pulls on the door handle. The door opens a quarter of an inch. When he places his face to the crack, it’s too dark to see anything but the shadows of large shapes.

Hand balanced along the side, Kurt rounds the building, looking for another way inside. The wood is coarse. His skin burns by the time he completes a circle. There’s no window or side entrance. Kurt looks toward the cabin again. The door is still wide open.  _Maybe I should go check to see if Dave’s still out._

Kurt flashes on the image of the large man lying in a puddle of blood on the kitchen floor. His body trembles.  _I need to find my way out of here._

Almost everything in sight is forest. The cabin is in front of him, the shed behind, and trees expand everywhere else. There’s a ring of cleared land that seems to circle the cabin. Kurt jogs around the side of the building. He sees the window of his room and quickly moves his eyes away. From the outside, the cabin looks like something built during the American Revolution. Long wooden logs packed tightly together create the walls. Two chimneys poke out from the roof. Kurt vaguely remembers a fireplace in the large living area, the other must be in another room. Every so often there are windows. They are all similar to the high, small one found in Kurt’s room. Other than the front door, Kurt can’t see any other exit. There’s no doubt in his mind the place was built as a prison.

Kurt rounds the last side of the cabin and sees his salvation. It’s a black, muddy four-wheeler. Kurt’s on it in seconds. He’s never ridden one before, but he drives an SUV, and really,  _how hard can it be?_

He swings his legs over and grips the handles. The seat is wide, nothing like the bicycle his dad bought him when he was eight. With both feet tucked into the footholds, his thighs twinge.  _Okay, how do I turn on this baby?_

There’s a keyhole right below the handle bar console, in what appears to be a small dashboard. To the left of the hole are three buttons. There are some white lines that Kurt can tell used to be pictures. To the right is a gas meter. There’s a not a key in sight.

Kurt scrambles around. Past the space meant for a second rider is a short, metal grill with a tool box secured on top. Knees pressed against the worn padding of the seat, Kurt unhooks the bungee cords and yanks the box forward. It has a simple latch keeping it closed. Inside is a canteen of water, an aluminum bag filled with mysterious lumps, a roll of duct tape, an ace bandage, a folded cloth bag, a flashlight, a utility knife, and a carefully packed emergency thermal blanket. No key.

Kurt picks up the whole box and hurls it, screaming. Tears cloud his eyes and roll down his cheeks before Kurt wipes them away with the back of his hand. He climbs off the four-wheeler and looks around again. 

There’s still no sign of Dave, but there’s no sign of anyone else either. Kurt can’t even figure out how they got here. He doesn’t see any paths or roads. He can’t hear any cars. Just the huff of his own breath, the slight rustle of the wind, and the trickle of water. 

_ Water,  _ his brain whispers. _Where there’s water there are people._  Every survival show teaches that. Right?

Kurt focuses on the sound and lets it guide him. He jogs through trees, pulling his legs through clinging bushes and ducking below low resting branches. The bottoms of his feet bleed, and a few of the scratches on his face reopen.  _Don’t think about it,_ Kurt tells himself.

Something darts ahead of him and before Kurt can stop himself, he releases a scared little shout. A white puffy tail disappears under green and brown bramble.  _Scared of rabbits now?_  A chuckle bubbles in his chest. It tumbles out as a sob. 

The cabin has vanished; the shine of the tin roof of the shed is gone as well. It’s cooler beneath the umbrella of trees, but it’s also darker. If Kurt hadn’t been under the bright sun only minutes before, he’d believe that night approached  .

“Where is the river?” Kurt’s voice seems loud and wrong in the forest. He feels like this place should be for the birds and trees, wildlife and nature. People have no place here.

He squeezes past a thick barked tree and a spread of purple flowers. His foot gets caught in raised roots and he falls. Pain lances through his ankle and knees. He struggles to his feet and props against a nearby tree. His ankle is already swelling. Tiny droplets of red are soaking through his jeans. Despair clutches his soul. 

_ I know I said I didn’t believe in you,  _ Kurt prays.  _But God, if you exist, please help me._

A bird twitters to his right. Through a gap between two bushes, Kurt sees the river. A desperate sort of laugh spills from his chest. “Thank you,” he whispers as he forces himself to his feet. Everything hurts, but nothing is going to stop him from getting to that water. He hobbles, half dragging half hopping, to the bank of the river. Water laps at his toes, warm and wet, before Kurt stops.

It’s endless. The narrowest point is in the distance to his right. From this far away it looks about two body lengths wide. Here, by Kurt’s feet, from one side to the other is at least thirty feet. From the way the murky bottom disappears an arm’s length from his toes, Kurt estimate the water to be deep. A broken tree branch floats by, twisting in circles from the current, and sweeps away downstream. It’s moving way too fast to do any swimming, not that Kurt has the strength to swim.

_ So I’ll walk.  _ He peers around looking for any sign of which way he should go. There isn’t anything, just wilderness.  _I’ll go with the current._

It’s not easy going. The bank is narrow in some places, and Kurt ends up ankle deep in water more often than not. Sharp stones pierce the soles of his feet, injuring them further. With every step he takes, the pain in his body hurts more and more. Kurt pushes himself until his head is nothing but a buzz of agony. Then he stops. 

He doesn’t know how far he’s gotten. The place where he first came to the river is long out of sight, but that doesn’t indicate much. Everything looks the same. Some trees are taller and leafier than others, and sometimes the water has beaten the rocks into smooth mud, but for the most part, Kurt can’t tell the difference between here and there. 

A fallen tree becomes his chair. He sits on the bank in a spot caked with mud and leaves, not to mention a thousand little red berries, with his back resting against cracked bark. His heels rest in the running river. As he blinks away the sweat from his eyes, he sees red seeping gently from water-logged socks.

_ Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to sit down,  _ Kurt thinks. Despite the fact every inch of his body is wet, either from sweat or the river, he feels overheated. His throat screams for a drink, but he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t drink the river water. Not when he can’t see to the silt in the few inches of water he’s resting in.  _I’ll just lay my head down for a bit and take a nap._ He uses his elbow as a pillow and barrier between the wood and his forehead.  _Then I’ll feel more rested and can walk more._  His eyes drift shut.

*** 

An alarming scream wrenches Kurt from dreams of Dad’s garage and Finn’s laughter. He startles awake and rolls off the log, hitting the ground hard. A wave of nausea stops him from rising. He opens his mouth and heaves. It’s nothing but liquid bile that burns on the way up. When there’s nothing left, dry, aching heaves shake his body.

Groaning, he pushes himself away from his mess. He doesn’t have the energy to stand, so he crawls. His skin feels like it’s on fire.  _Oh god,_ he moans silently. Uncaring about germs or disease, Kurt cups water from the river in his palms and drinks until his thirst dies down. His throat soothed, Kurt stops. The warm water does nothing to ease his fever  .

He tries to stand, hand pressed against the ground for balance, but pain flares bright in his feet and ankle. He collapses back the earth then sucks in air, attempting to catch his breath. It’s then he realizes that night has fallen and he can’t see his feet before him.

_ How long have I been out here?  _ Kurt looks up. Stars twinkle in the sky, brighter than he’s ever seen. A crescent moon cups the edge of Orion’s Belt. Both the stars and the moon reflect against the moving water before him. Everything else is dark. Beyond the riverbank lie looming shadows that fade into never-ending blackness. There are no streetlights, no glowing porch lanterns or dim car beams to light the way.

Sounds are everywhere. Kurt’s panting breaths are first and foremost in his ears. The running river rumbles too. Chirping crickets and other nighttime bugs play an orchestra of music that circles in volume every few seconds. Then, there’s a scream; the same one that shocked Kurt from Morpheus’s hold.  _An owl,_ Kurt’s brain provides. At least he thinks it’s an owl.

 A sharp howl sends a lance of fear through Kurt’s chest.  _Was that a wolf?_ He prays not but listens for more. He’s rewarded a few minutes later when an answering call cries from further away.  _Head towards your friend,_ Kurt commands of the closer wolf.  _Leave me alone._

There are no more howls. Instead, a wind picks up, whistling through the trees, and before Kurt has time to think, a bolt of lightning streaks through the sky. The accompanying thunder booms eight seconds later.  _I have to move._ If Kurt has learned anything from his swim lessons as a kid, it was that lightning and water don’t mix. 

He takes a fortifying breath and pushes himself to his feet. The pain is unbearable. His vision spins, and despite the lack of light, bright spots dance before his eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingernails into his palms. He takes a step forward.

Somehow, he manages a whole ten steps before he runs into anything. Something unseen bumps into his leg and Kurt lets out a shriek followed by a moan. His stomach rolls again. Sweat drips down his face. Another bolt of lightning is followed by thunder and Kurt opens his eyes in time to see a clearing a dozen paces ahead.

It takes him an eternity to get there. It’s too dark to see, and the only reason he knows he’s made it to the clearing is because the amount of rain beating against his body increases and the rough ground prickles into softer grass. Kurt doesn’t have the energy to go any further. He sinks to his knees and lies down in the grass.

He’s beyond tired. His earlier nap did nothing but sap his strength. The rain isn’t good for him, especially not with his fever, but Kurt can’t force himself to go on.  _I’m never going to see my Dad again._ The sob starts in his chest and is soon trembling through his whole body.  _I’m going to drown in my own tears._

He cries harder. He doesn’t even realize he’s wailing until high beams flash at the threshold of the clearing. The light blinds him and his wails abruptly cut off. There’s a person with a car.  _A car._ “Help!” Kurt screams. Thunder booms, drowning out his voice. He wants to stand, wave his arms, but he can’t move. Everything hurts too much, takes too much energy.

“Help!” he shouts again. His voice isn’t even half the volume as before.  _He’s going to pass me by, leave me here to die, alone._ The light comes closer. The roar of an engine vibrates the ground. Kurt can’t cry out. Tears choke him, freezing him a loop of grief. Wheels spin mud onto Kurt’s skin as the vehicle comes to a stop. Kurt wants to look up, to see his rescuer, but his body refuses to cooperate.

Strong hands touch his side. Kurt closes his eyes in relief. Arms slip beneath his body. Kurt whimpers as pain steals every coherent thought. “Shh, shh,” a faceless voice comforts. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

Kurt’s lifted from the ground and held close to a solid chest. He curls into the body, craving its warmth, for suddenly he’s freezing. The world spins as he’s carried. Then he’s being forced to sit up, but that’s okay because that strong chest is still at his back, cradling his body.

The engine roars to life beneath them. Kurt’s whole body seems to shake with the vibrations. His head rolls back, pressing against a muscled pec and then against a thick bicep. Nausea returns and Kurt keeps his eyes closed to combat the feeling. He doesn’t want to puke on his savior. 

They begin to move. Kurt begins to tumble forward until an arm wraps around his middle, holding him still. His eyes flutter open. The high beams show the rain splattering against the ground and the dark meadow stretched out before them. Trees in the distance get closer and closer. They’re heading back into the forest. 

A small bump has them catching air for a moment. Kurt’s gaze drifts upwards. He sees his rescuer for the first time. 

It’s his captor.


	6. Chapter 6

** Part 6 ** ** **

Days pass. Kurt’s not sure how many, because he spends most of the time battling fevered nightmares. He dreams of an empty grave in the ground with his father’s name etched in stone above. Kurt calls out for his dad, but he never comes running. Kurt’s left for eternity staring at the coffin-sized hole. He’s in glee club, and it’s his turn to sing. Song in mind, Kurt marches to the piano and opens his mouth. The lyrics catch in his throat and nothing comes out. Rachel Berry points at finger at him and whole group laughs. Kurt tries to run, but his feet are bleeding and it hurts too much to move.

The worst dream has Kurt running through a forest. Skeleton trees grasp their boney, knuckled fingers around Kurt’s limbs, trying to halt his escape. Kurt runs out of breath. The sun pops up high in the sky. He looks to his right and there’s Finn with a smile on his face. His step-brother waves Kurt closer then holds out a glass of pink lemonade. A smile cracks Kurt’s chapped lips and he stumbles forward, eager for the drink, eager to see a loving face.

As Kurt’s fingers touch the glass, condensation moistens his skin, and it shatters. Sharp pieces bite him, stinging like angry bees. Kurt cries out, and looks to his step-brother for comfort. But Finn’s face isn’t sympathetic. No, the one boy who has accepted Kurt for who he is, sneers.

“Why did you touch it?” Finn snarls. “This is your fault!” Finn throws his hands down, and suddenly, there’s a metal bat in his grip. Fear bursts across Kurt’s nerves and he stumbles.

“No!” he cries, but he’s too slow to stop it. The bat comes down, ready to bash in his head.

“Hey,” a soft voice soothes. The word is accompanied by the gentle pressure of a hand rubbing against his shoulder.

Kurt’s eyes fly open and he sits up with a gasp. The image of Finn swinging the bat, anger and hatred on his face, swims in Kurt’s head. “I’m going to be sick,” he groans.

A deep wooden bowl appears beneath his chin. Kurt grips the sides with his hands and heaves. Nothing more than yellow colored water comes out. He keeps heaving until all of the water has left his body. His chest, stomach, and throat burn. After a minute, the dry heaving stops, and Kurt tries to suck in air. His mouth is dry and tastes vile.

“Here,” that voice says again. A cup is pressed to his lips. Water laps against his mouth. Kurt tries greedily to drink the whole cup. “Not so fast,” the voice rumbles near his ear. Kurt frowns and reaches up to take the cup in his own hands. His fingers bump against the other man’s and Kurt finally looks at his caretaker.

He sees the strong jaw, broad shoulders and hazel eyes, and everything comes rushing back. _Dave._ His fingers drop, but Dave has a firm grip on the cup, so the water doesn’t spill. He reaches past Kurt and sets the drink atop the tray on the nightstand.

A row of butterfly bandages curve around Dave’s head, the last one disappearing into the boy’s hairline. His skin is still swollen, but there isn’t any blood visible anywhere. “Feeling any better?” Dave asks. The back of his hand comes to rest against Kurt’s forehead for a moment before moving to his cheek. Then the touch is gone. “You’re fever has broken.” Dave flashes him a wobbly smile. It dies when Kurt continues to stare at him.

“Here,” he says, sliding off the bed. His bare feet pad softly against the wooden floor as he makes his way to the dresser. He picks up a jar and large box of bandages. “I’ll do your feet and knees next.”

Dim light trails in through the small window high in the wall, casting shadows across the bed and floor. It’s humid again, the air feels stifling and thick. Despite the fact that his captor is a few feet away and heading back to the bed way too quickly for Kurt’s tastes, all Kurt feels is exhaustion.

Dave peels back the blanket, or really more of a thick sheet, and lifts up Kurt’s left leg. Kurt knows he’s hurt himself. He’s in enough pain to realize that. Still, a wave of disgusted shock twists his stomach as he catches sight of his feet.  Dave unravels the blood-spotted bandages around his foot and Kurt’s foot comes into view.

 _I think I’m going to be sick again._ However, nothing comes up because his stomach is empty. His gasp and a sequential heave blast through the room.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Dave says. He lifts a wet rag from a bowl of water sitting on the ground and washes the used ointment from Kurt’s foot. Red spots the cloth. His eyes drift up Kurt’s body and settle on his face. “You should have seen them when I first found you.”

Kurt can’t tell if the words are meant as a joke or comfort. He feels neither humored nor soothed.  “I’m never going to be able to walk again,” Kurt says, not realizing he spoke aloud until the harsh rasp of his wrecked throat batters against his ears.

The drag of the wet cloth stops and Dave says, “I forget how dramatic you can be.” The words sear through Kurt’s body, burning unease and horror into his being like round cigarette marks. Dave keeps talking, drawing Kurt’s attention for the moment. “You’ll be fine.” He pats the side of Kurt’s leg in one of the only spots not scratched up, and says, “This foot is worse than the other. The scratches aren’t too bad. You didn’t even need stitches. What got you good was the infection.” He drops the dirty cloth back into the bowl of water and scoops a glob of ointment from the jar. He smears it gently over Kurt’s foot. The stuff is cool and instantly soothing. When his foot is covered, Dave begins the process of wrapping new bandages.

“Infection?” Kurt says, because he can’t find any other words.

Dave bobs his head. “You were running outside with battered feet and no shoes, of course you got an infection.” He pauses as he finishes wrapping Kurt’s foot. He starts on the other one. “You probably already had an infection when you ran off.” He stops unwrapping the used bandage of Kurt’s right foot and stares at the injured boy. “I know fever can make you do crazy things.”

 _Oh, you mean like hit you in the head with a lantern?_ Kurt thinks snidely. _Nope, I’m pretty sure that was the smartest thing I’ve done since you’ve kidnapped me._ Somehow, he manages to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Really, I’m surprised you made it all the way to the field,” Dave says. He picks up the cloth from the bowl of water and begins to wash Kurt’s foot. Kurt grimaces. The rag is covered in bloody ointment from the first foot. He shoots Kurt an impressed look. “That’s like three miles from here.”

 _Three miles?_ Kurt thinks. _If felt like twenty._  He keeps his mouth shut, and Dave finishes his caretaking. The man wipes his hands on the dirty cloth then dries them on his jeans. Sliding off the bed, he tucks the jar of ointment under his arm, then reaches down and picks up the bowl of dirty water.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Kurt says, though he doesn’t think that Dave hears him, either that or he doesn’t catch the sarcasm. The man disappears out the open door. Kurt wants to jump up and run away again, but his energy is nowhere to be found. Instead, he stares at his newly bandaged feet and bare legs. “I look like a bombing victim.”

Even though his feet are covered, Kurt can easily bring to mind the swollen, torn flesh. His legs are scratched up too, but there are no bandages hiding the wounded skin. Kurt traces his finger lightly up his leg. His finger comes back shiny with that healing goop.

“I brought you some broth,” Dave says, stealing Kurt’s attention. He’s holding a wooden bowl. The length of a silver spoon sticks out from the side.

“I’m not hungry,” Kurt says, but as soon as the words leave his mouth his stomach chooses that moment to twinge then growl.

Dave laughs. The mattress dips under his weight as he takes the space on Kurt’s left. “I think someone disagrees.” There’s a teasing sparkle in his eyes. Kurt hates the way the humor eases the seriousness in his face, making charming wrinkle lines pucker around his eyes.

 _He’s not allowed to be handsome,_ Kurt thinks then curses himself for the illogical thought. _His looks have nothing to with his crazy psyche._ Kurt snips glances at Dave’s strong jaw and rough five-o’clock shadow. _He probably uses his good looks to attract young boys like me to kidnap and do whatever with._

“I’m not hungry,” Kurt says again, ignoring the pang in his stomach. He leans back against the propped up pillows. “I’m tired.” It’s not a lie. He is tired. His limbs feel heavy and sore, and his whole body hurts, feet most of all.

Dave’s smile drops and he stares at Kurt for a second before nodding at some internal decision he’s made. He sets the bowl of broth on the nightstand and picks up two red pills that Kurt failed to notice earlier. “Here,” he says holding them out to Kurt.

Kurt just stares.

A sigh pushes through the room. “They’re just pain relievers. You’ve been taking them for the past few days.”

“I don’t remember taking them,” Kurt says, eyeing the pills.

“You did.”

 _What’s the worst that can happen?_ Kurt reasons, because pain killers sound wonderful. _You can die, or they’re roofies and you become helpless._ Kurt holds out his hand and Dave dumps the medicine into his palm. _I’ve already been helpless, and he hasn’t done anything._

“Can I have some water?” Dave gives that half-smile and grabs a water bottle from the floor. Kurt unscrews the top, puts the pills in his mouth, then swallows it all down. There’s a long moment of silence where Dave stares at Kurt, and Kurt stares at his mangled legs. He shuts his eyes, closing out the world.

“Get some rest.” Dave eases from the bed. As he stands, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “If you need anything, just call out.” He nods, as if he’s said his piece and that’s enough, then shuffles from the room.

Kurt sighs then tugs the blanket back over his body. His back aches, feeling like the aftermath of a six-hour cheerleading practice with Coach Sylvester. He settles down against the sheets, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder. He’s not cold, in fact, with the little effort it took to get comfortable on the bed and the heat of the day, Kurt’s sweating. Yet, the blanket feels good around him. 

He closes his eyes again and prays, _Please let me go to sleep then wake up at home._ A few breaths pass, then exhaustion presses him into the dream world.

***

Kurt wakes up twice more. The first time Dave is there offering pills, and the second he’s holding a new bowl of broth. Kurt accepts both. The third time he wakes, he’s alone.  The sun is smiling through his little window and a soft breeze blows through the room. A vase of long stemmed, bright yellow flowers rests on the nightstand near Kurt’s head. They resemble daisies, but instead of dark centers, there’s just more yellow.

 _I have to pee._ The thought pulses through Kurt’s body, along with the uncomfortable pressure of a full bladder. Slowly, because even though the sharp pain of before is gone, he still aches, Kurt inches to the edge of the bed. The blanket bunches around his limbs. Frowning, he drags it over his legs and tosses to the corner of the mattress.

His legs are still shiny with the greasy ointment. The scratches beneath the sheen aren’t as red or swollen as before, but his feet are still wrapped in bandages. At the pace of a snail, Kurt eases his legs off the side of the bed. Every second, every centimeter has him holding his breath, waiting for pain. It doesn’t come.

Oh, he still hurts. His skin feels stiff, and the parts of his legs that touch the sheets twinge as his sticky body clings to the fabric. But the burn, the heat of it all, is gone. Kurt lets his bandaged feet hover above the ground. He takes a deep breath and lets his eyelids fall shut.  _It’s going to hurt,_ he tells himself in preparation. _But think how good it will feel to pee._ Determination pulls his mouth straight. _And you are not going to pee in the bed._ He purposely doesn’t think of the fact he’s been lying in this bed for god knows how long. He’s probably already made a mess of everything.

 _And Dave probably cleaned it up._ The thought slips in like an unwanted ant crawling around on the kitchen floor. It leaves Kurt feeling embarrassed and angry. _So what if he had to clean up after me?  It’s his fault I’m here to begin with. I should just pee in the bed to spite him._ As soon as he has the thought, Kurt wrinkles his nose in disgust. Because really, it’s gross.

 _So the bathroom it is._ Kurt takes another fortifying breath then opens his eyes. The room’s the same as before- bare wooden floors, smooth dark furniture with golden handles, and Kurt. He grips the edge of the bed, twisting the sheets beneath his fingers, and eases his left foot down.

The heel of his foot touches first, and when that doesn’t send waves of agony up his frame, he presses down on the rest of the rest of his foot. It hurts, but it’s not unbearable. _It’s like one of the many times you’ve gotten blisters from dance class or Cheerio practice. The first few steps will hurt, but the pain will fade away as you get used to it,_ Kurt thinks.

He remembers Coach Sylvester with her megaphone shouting, “No pain no gain. If you want to be winners, you have to suffer.” Kurt inhales again then presses down his other foot.

A loud gasp rips through the room. Kurt’s legs tremble and he falls back onto the bed. His eyes water as he tries to breathe through the pain. As soon as the pressure is off the bottom of his foot, the stabbing sensation ebbs, but a throbbing ache lingers. After a minute, Kurt’s chest isn’t burning, and he can see clearly again.

Then, as if he just didn’t feel like he stepped on burning coals, a sharp twinge forces its way through his lower half. _I really have to pee._ Kurt gets his arm underneath his body and levers upwards. “You made it three miles with torn feet after being kidnapped and drugged,” Kurt says to himself, “you can make the fifty feet to the bathroom.”

Tentatively, Kurt places his right foot on the floor. Getting a grip on the edge of the bed, he pushes himself onto one foot. A wave of vertigo hits him but quickly washes away after a few calming breaths. _I’ll just hop._ He lets his other foot hover above the ground and moves his hand to the nightstand. _I’ll use the wall for balance._

Slowly, he shuffles forward. The corner of the nightstand jabs into his palm. By the time he’s made it to the wall- only a few steps- his left leg is feeling heavy and the desire to place it on the floor is overwhelming. _The door isn’t far. You can do it._ He spreads is hand wide against the wall for better balance and half drags, half hops the length of the wall.

The movement isn’t conducive for a full bladder. Sweat trickles into his eyes as his fingers wrap around the door frame. Despite the fact he feels like he’s going to wet himself any second, Kurt has to stop and rest. The muscles in his calves, both calves, are screaming at him. _Look._ He looks at the open bathroom door. _It’s only a few feet away._ His tongue darts out to moisten his cracked, dry lips.

“Okay,” Kurt says with an exhale of air. He takes a hop forward. His knee hits the edge of the wall. It’s doesn’t really hurt, but it startles him. Kurt’s other hand jumps out to catch the wall for balance. His left foot rushes to the floor.

This time, there’s no bed cushioning his fall. A cry spills from his mouth as pain lances up his leg, spiraling in increasing waves from his foot. Kurt curls into himself, elbows and knees press into the unforgiving floor.

His bladder releases. Wetness soaks through his underwear and drips down his legs. Kurt squeezes his eyes shut, trying to close out the shame choking his chest. The action does nothing to stop the bitter smell from reaching his nose. The worst part is the rush of release he feels. It washes away pain.

Kurt sags to the floor, belly dipping in the mess he’s made. His shirt soaks up urine and sticks to his skin. For the first time since this nightmare began, Kurt’s glad his friends and family aren’t around. He doesn’t want them to see how pathetic he’s become.

The sound of a door opening and closing does nothing to encourage Kurt to move. Footsteps vibrate the wood beneath him. They get louder as the body comes closer.

Kurt knows the second Dave sees him. “Shit,” his captor curses. The mild footfalls turn rapid as Dave runs towards him. “Kurt, are you okay?” It’s a stupid question, so Kurt doesn’t answer. Not that he would have if the question had been valid. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut tighter and prays that he’ll wake up to his father’s yelling voice. 

A hand touches his back. “What happened?” Kurt twists, trying to throw off the hand. The appendage is gone for a second, then it’s back, gripping Kurt’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?” Dave pulls him upwards.

“Leave me alone!” Kurt growls, throwing the hand off again. He collapses into himself, palms pressing into the space before his knees. Wetness squelches under his skin. Disgust wells in his throat.

“Oh,” Dave says softly.

Rage explodes in Kurt’s chest, and young man welcomes the feeling. “Shut up!” he screams. “This is your fault.” His eyes flash accusingly at the other boy. The look is a mistake.

Dave’s face is soft with sympathy. He crouches down before Kurt. “I’m sorry,” he says, holding out his hands. Dave’s eyes narrow with concern. “I was out doing chores. I didn’t think you’d wake up this soon.” His hand drifts forward, like he’s going to comfort Kurt.

“I hate you,” Kurt says venomously.

Dave rears back like a startled horse. Hurt pools in his eyes. Kurt looks away. He doesn’t want to know if his captor cries. “You don’t mean that,” Dave whispers, drawing Kurt’s attention. Kurt watches as Dave’s Adam’s apple bops. “Come on, let’s get you washed up.” He reaches out for Kurt again, wrapping his big hand around Kurt’s bicep. 

Kurt yanks his body, trying to get loose, however this time, Dave’s grip is firm. Showing his strength, Dave lifts Kurt from the ground. As his toes brush along the floor, Kurt sucks in air, preparing for pain as his torn feet press against the wood. It never comes. Dave sweeps his arm under the bend of Kurt’s legs. The hand around his arm slides beneath his armpits.

 _I should struggle,_ Kurt thinks. He doesn’t. _At least he’s getting covered in pee._ Though the thought is vindictive in nature, Kurt feels no glee. The hate in his chest is all consuming.

His captor nudges the bathroom door with his shoulder, and it swings open the rest of the way. The bathroom is how Kurt remembered it too.  It’s long and narrow, with an extended counter wand a kitchen-like sink. That huge tub sits ominously to their right. “Here,” Dave says, dipping his body so he can flip the toilet seat shut. The porcelain lid is cool beneath Kurt’s thighs. “Don’t let your feet touch,” Dave says as his arms slip away. His skin is shiny from the leeched ointment.

Kurt resents the comment. _I’m not stupid._ He almost drops his feet just to be hostile, but the thought of that pain again leaves him cold. So instead, he curls his legs so his feet hover above the ground. Dave shuffles to the tub and turns on the faucet. Water chugs out, tinted brown at first, but after a minute it runs clear.

The back of Dave’s t-shirt is sweat-soaked. It sticks to his back like a second layer of skin. As he bends over the tub, twisting the hot water handle on, the shirt rides up, flashing a stripe of skin above his jeans. Kurt’s eyes snap away as if the sight is monstrous. He stares at the tub, watching the remaining brown water swirl away down the drain.

Apparently at a good temperature, Dave grabs the white rubber stopper resting in one of the two cubby holes on either end of the tub and plugs up the drain. Using his hand as leverage, Dave hunkers himself up and turns towards Kurt. His hands are at the edge of Kurt’s shirt before Kurt’s brain realizes what he’s doing.

“I can do it,” Kurt snarls, shoving Dave’s hands away. A frown curls at the corner of the bigger man’s lips. “I don’t need your help.” As if to prove his point, Kurt yanks the shirt over his head. The fabric dangles between his fingers ready to be dropped when a thought plows him over. _I have to be naked to take a bath._ His gaze snaps towards Dave. “Do you mind?”

Dave’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “You couldn’t even make it the few steps from the bedroom to the bathroom,” he growls, finally showing some anger. “How are you going to take a bath by yourself?”

Kurt grips the shirt closer to his chest. He doesn’t know how to answer. The tub is only a few steps away, but the thought of his feet touching the ground leaves him quaking. Dave sighs and runs a hand through his short hair. “Look,” he says, jaw ticking. “How about I’ll undo your bandages and set you in the tub. I’ll go start dinner. You can take off the rest of your clothes and wash by yourself.”

“My clothes will get wet,” Kurt says without thinking. Dave raises an eyebrow again, like he can’t believe Kurt just said that. Kurt feels his face heat. He quickly adds, “And how will I get out?” He throws out the question like a challenge.

A frown pulls over Dave’s mouth. Kurt can tell he hadn’t thought of that. The sound of water rushing into the tub fills the air for a moment, then Dave grunts and says, “This is stupid. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, or have for that matter. Why are you being so prudish?”

 _Why am I being prudish?_ Kurt thinks a bit hysterically. A laugh spills from his lips. The tub is almost filled. Kurt can feel the heat from the water from his seat on the toilet. Desire to be in the water, to be clean, hits him hard. It kills his cynical humor. _If he hasn’t raped you yet, he probably won’t,_ his brain whispers. The thought doesn’t bring Kurt any comfort, but it makes up his mind.

“Fine,” Kurt says. He drops the t-shirt and holds out his hand. “Come help me get undressed.”

Surprise flashes over Dave’s face, but he wastes no time. Coming forward, he kneels. The bandages come undone. His feet aren’t as bad as Kurt expected. The right one swollen up like a disgusting pink crème puff, but the cuts aren’t as deep as Kurt expects. “A bath is going to do you wonders,” Dave says softly. Kurt’s not sure if the man is talking to himself of directing the thought towards him.

“Put you hand on my shoulder,” Dave directs. His fingers dip at the elastic of Kurt’s boxers. His nails drag along Kurt’s skin. Kurt stomach flutters, but when Dave just waits for Kurt to follow his instructions, Kurt’s nerves settle down. He presses his hand against the curve of Dave’s collar and lifts up his body. His bottoms are stripped off in one efficient motion. Despite Dave’s earlier declaration, Kurt can’t help but notice the red flush of his cheeks as he swoops Kurt up and sets him in the tub. 

The warmth of the water feels amazing. The initial heat stings Kurt’s injured skin, but the burn settles into a pleasant comfort. Kurt can’t help the little groan of appreciation that slips from his mouth as the stench of his urine starts to fade and the heat sooths his muscles. Dave’s tongue peeks out, and the red of his face deepens. The larger man’s hands disappear from Kurt’s body in a flash. He turns away from Kurt and shuts off the water. Kurt settles against the back of the tub. Water sloshes over the side.

“The soap is to your left,” Dave says, voice sandpapery. “I’ll go get you towels and a change of clothes.” When he comes back with two faded blue towels and an arm full of clothes, Kurt hasn’t moved.

Dave sets his bundle on top of the toilet seat. “I’ll leave you alone and go make us some food.” He takes a step back, eyes whiplashing around the room, always settling back on Kurt. Kurt already feels better than he has in days, so be pretends to ignore the other boy. Then a thought occurs to him.

“You’re not the most hygienic either.” Kurt thinks of what’s rubbed off on his captor, both from Kurt himself and from whatever he was doing earlier.

Dave’s eyes drift to the ground. “I’ll wash up outside.” He takes another step backwards. “Just holler when you’re ready to get out.” Then he’s gone, leaving the door open, and Kurt alone.

Not in a hurry, Kurt lays in the water until the heat starts to leech away. He tries not to think of his situation. He tries to not to think of his dad or friends. The thoughts sneak in away. By the time he starts to wash with the bland bar of soap, depression fills Kurt’s chest. He yanks the chain, watching as the dirty water begins its decent down the drain. 

Once the water’s gone, Kurt sits in the empty tub staring at his body. The sheen of the ointment is gone. His skin is pink and tender. The pads of his fingers are pruned, as are his toes. He ducks his head, looking at his pale stomach. Wet hair falls in front of his eyes. Kurt brushes it back and thinks, _I’ve lost at least ten pounds._ His ribs poke through, reminding Kurt of one of those sad, starving children from Africa. He can feel the reemergence of tears heavy in the back of his eyes.

“Hey,” Dave says, startling Kurt. His head snaps up and he stares at the man in the doorway. Dave’s hair is wet and he’s changed clothes. A new pair of jeans and a plain blue t-shirt cover his body. Kurt curls his legs upwards, hiding himself. Dave swallows and glues his eyes to the ground. “Ready to eat?”

Kurt nods because he doesn’t know what else to do. Dave steps forward, boots clunking heavily against the floor. There’s a comfortable silences as Dave helps Kurt dress. “Do you have some sort of crutch I could use?” Kurt asks. If he could use the crutch for his really bad foot, he can hobble around on the other foot. It’s not ideal, but it sure beats depending on Dave.

His captor shakes his head. “I’ll make you one tomorrow,” Dave says. He slips his arm under Kurt’s and rests his palm flat against Kurt’s back. “For now you’ll have to use me.”

Kurt grinds his teeth but allows Dave to help him to the kitchen area. He settles down in chair at the table. Two places have been set, same as before Kurt ran. The plates are navy blue and porcelain. They have white squiggles around the rim. The front door is open, but there’s a second screen door that’s shut, keeping out everything but the summer heat.

 _That wasn’t there before,_ Kurt thinks, and for the first time Kurt wonders if Dave is the one who made all this stuff- the furniture in his room, the kitchen table, the screen.

“I made grilled cheese,” Dave says, setting a sandwich on Kurt’s plate. He places two on his own plate from a flat cooking pan. “If you want another one, just let me know.” Kurt doesn’t reply. Dave wanders back to the stove and sets down the pan. He opens the fridge and takes out a large wooden bowl. It’s a brightly colored salad with the freshest looking tomatoes and spinach Kurt’s ever seen.

Dave serves Kurt first then puts some of it on his own plate. He takes his own seat adjacent to Kurt and begins to eat. Kurt picks up his fork and twists it through the salad. Despite the fact he knows he hasn’t eaten a real meal in days, and he looks like a skeleton, the first bite makes Kurt’s stomach roll.

 _I’m eating dinner with the man who kidnapped me._ The fork falls from his fingers.

“Are you alright?” Dave asks, looking up from his plate.

“Why?” Kurt says, voice cracking. “Why did you take me?”

Dave doesn’t speak right away, and he when he does, his words stop Kurt’s heart. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“What?” Kurt grips the edge of the table.

Dave drops his own utensil and rests his wrist against the tabletop. His voice is rough as he says, “I know it was a while ago, and I was a mess back then, but I really thought that seeing me would jar your memory.”

“From the airport?” Kurt says, knowing it’s not the right answer. _What the hell is he talking about?_ Kurt thinks frantically. He remembers the flash of familiarity at the coffee shop, but he squashes down the thought. _I’ve never met him before, that I know._

 __A half snort-half huff escapes Dave. He looks into Kurt’s eyes. “You saved my life.”


	7. Chapter 7

** Part 7 **

_You saved my life._ The words echo across Kurt’s brain, banging against his insides like a battering ram. His life, both good deeds and bad, flashes before his eyes. He searches in the silence of their breaths for anything that makes sense. Nothing does. Kurt wants to look away from Dave’s piercing gaze, to give himself a moment alone with his thoughts, but he can’t tear his eyes away.

He openly stares, taking in every minute detail of Dave’s face. A five o’clock shadow darkens the man’s tanned skin. The hair on his face, both incoming beard and eyebrows, is darker than the mud brown on the top of his head, though that could be because it’s still wet from wherever he washed. His hazel eyes are closer to brown inside the low light of the kitchen. Dave’s lips, which are pressed together in a firm line, are perfectly shaped. The somewhat delicate heart they create is at odds with the utter masculinity of this man.

Dave’s thick, broad chest is slightly hunched at the moment. His shoulders curve towards the table, shortening his neck and giving him the appearance of having a double chin. The extra weight is a false illusion. From far away it would be easy to mistake Dave’s wideness for heaviness, but Kurt’s seen everything up close. He’s touched that back and held those arms. Dave’s nothing but hard muscle.

In other circumstances Kurt would pant after such a specimen of maleness like a dog in heat. He would flick his eyes to the side and trail a body like that until it disappeared from sight. Kurt’s not stupid, and he considers himself pretty self-aware. Dave is his type. _I’d never forget him,_ Kurt thinks.

Slowly, because the world seems to be made of molasses, Kurt forces his eyes to his plate. He’s too scared to speak and look at Dave at the same time. Cheese bleeds from the edges of his sandwich. His breath catches in his throat. His words drag over broken glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dave sucks in a mouthful of air. Suddenly, the room feels cooler. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he has to run. Goosebumps prickle Kurt’s skin. He quivers. Kurt’s gaze dashes to Dave’s face, checking. His captor doesn’t look angry. Dave’s eyebrows dip inwards. His eyes droop and his mouth is parted. _Sad,_ Kurt’s brain provides. _He looks sad._

“It was at Faurot Park,” Dave says forlornly, as if he can’t believe Kurt forgot.

 _Faurot Park,_ Kurt thinks. His hometown park in materializes in his mind. It’s actually a lovely place. The picturesque park lays claim to hundreds of trees, rolling hills of green grass, and long, winding walking trails. Baseball fields and picnic shelters are common draws for Lima residents during the spring and summer. When Kurt was little his mom used to take him to the small zoo in the park. After she died, his dad took him several times, but it was never the same. His visits dwindled to near nothing after he turned twelve. “No,” Kurt says, shaking his head. 

Dave’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. His jaw ticks and he says, “It was a hot day towards the end of spring.” Dave’s eyes flicker downward, recalling the memory. “The park was crowded, full of screaming kids and uncaring parents. People were littering the park, leaving trash and trampling the homes of the animals. Even though it was a park, the place smelled wrong.” His nose crinkles. His eyes flutter shut for a moment before opening again. “It smelled sick and polluted.” His voice deepens, anger and sadness creeping in as he continues.

“There was this group of boys, teenagers, who were tormenting me, throwing rocks and sticks, trash at me as if I were a garbage can,” Dave says breathlessly. His face reddens and his fingers curl into fists. His eyes lift and meet Kurt’s. “It wasn’t the first time that had happened.”

Sickness coils in Kurt’s stomach.

“I was lying in some bushes, trying to hide myself, wanting to die, when a voice,” Dave looks at Kurt, “your voice, said, ‘What’s going on?’” Dave laughs mirthlessly. “Those boys turned their attention to you, taunting you with cruel words. I remember one tall kid pushed you, and you tumbled to the ground. He was twice your size.” Dave swallows hard. Kurt’s breaths rake through his chest like knives. “You didn’t cry or complain, even though you were younger than they were.” A half-smile pulls the corner of Dave’s mouth. “I remember how you glared up and told them off.” Dave shakes his head. “I had never heard anyone talk like that before.”

Every muscle in Kurt’s body draws bowstring tight. Dave doesn’t seem to notice. He continues. “They left, and you got up and looked me over.” A real smile stretches across Dave’s mouth. “I remember the way your hair flopped over your ears and blew into your eyes with the wind. You had on this yellow shirt with some type of handmade flower on it.”

Kurt can easily recall that shirt. It had been a favorite of his as a kid. He had made it with his mom on his tenth birthday. When no one had shown up for his party, she had taken Kurt to Target. They had bought the plain yellow t-shirts and glitter fabric glue and stencils. Together they spent all day designing their shirts. His mom had painted a cat with long whiskers and big, cartoon eyes. Kurt had decorated his with red and purple flowers. He wore the shirt until it fell apart. A patch of it still rested in his closet at home. An anvil drops on Kurt’s chest.

“I thought you would run away,” Dave says. “Everyone else did.” He looks down for a moment, caught in his memories. Kurt can only stare as everything crushes down on him. “But you didn’t. You walked away for a minute, but came back. You had this dandelion in one hand. You were protecting it from the wind with your other hand.” Dave’s fingers relax. “You knelt beside me in the bushes and held out the flower. ‘Make a wish,’ you said.”

 _Make a wish._ “There’s no point in wishing,” Kurt whispers.

Dave’s mouth parts. Wonder spreads across his face. “That’s what I said,” Dave says. “You do remember.”

Kurt’s fingers shake like leaves. “No,” Kurt says. “No, that wasn’t you. That was some poor homeless man.”

Shame pools in Dave’s eyes. His lowers his gaze. His voice is cracked as he says, “I’m not proud of that time of my life.”

“No,” Kurt says again, voice disbelieving. “I remember that day. It was an old homeless man in the park. I felt _bad_ for him.” The memory flares to life. Kurt remembers the heat of the day. He remembers the group of high school boys circling the bushes by one of the water fountains. Kurt had thought they were torturing an animal. He walked over there and saw the man in ragged clothes. The ripe smell of the man had clogged his nose; Kurt never knew that a person could stench like that. He remembers the boys who taunted both the man and his younger self. Kurt remembers how his palms of his hands tore when Scott Cooper shoved him down and Kurt caught his skin on the root of tree.

“I was fifteen.” Dave’s words rip through Kurt’s memory.

Kurt’s chest trembles. “That’s impossible.” 

Dave shakes his head. His hands fall off the table and hang to his sides. “You were hurt when I didn’t take the flower. I remember how you pretended it didn’t bother you, but you stumbled backwards and dropped the flower. You watched at the seeds puffed away in the wind. I remember how you pressed your hands to your sides and marched away.” Dave wets his lips. “I knew then that you were special. I thought about you until the sun set. The next day I left the park and started to pull myself together. If you hadn’t done what you did, I would be dead.” There’s no doubt in Dave’s tone.

Kurt’s breaths stutter out. He feels lightheaded and shaky.  _It can’t be true._ Kurt’s brain turns over. _I was eleven when that happened._ Terror and shock whiplashes through Kurt’s veins and he wraps his arms around his body. “Take me make to my room.”

Dave doesn’t move. He stares at Kurt, dejection heavy in his gaze. Kurt’s biceps ache with the effort he exhausts hugging himself. “Take me back, now.” Dave’s chair scrapes across the floor. He’s on his feet in record time. Without speaking, he tucks his arm under Kurt’s and sweeps him up in that princess hold. Kurt squeezes his eyes shut. A headache throbs at his temples. He presses his forehead against Dave’s chest even though he wishes more than anything to be anywhere else.

 _There’s no point in wishing._

Dave sets him down on the bed. He hovers for a moment before disappearing. He’s back a minute later with a handful of books. Silently, he sets them down on the corner of the bed. He swallows a few times, as if trying to say something. He fails.

Kurt concentrates on taking in air. Spots dance in his vision. He closes his eyes again to shut them out. The room disappears into blackness, but the spot still float behind closed lids. Kurt hears Dave shuffle away, boots grating against the wood floor. The man swings the door, but it doesn’t make it all the way to the frame. Footsteps fade down the hall. Kurt hears the screen door whine open then bang shut.

He picks up a book, it’s _Catcher in the Rye,_ and he begins to read. He’s alone in the room, in the house, but it’s more terrifying to be alone in his head.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

** Part 8 **

They don’t speak again until the next morning. Later, Dave brings him his uneaten dinner. He helps Kurt go to the bathroom before bed, and he sets out pajamas- a pair of boxes and light-weight t-shirt- for Kurt to wear. However, it’s not until the sun shines through his window the following day does Kurt murmur, “Thank you,” when Dave appears with crude set of crutches. 

The supports fit perfectly under his arms. The reverse-triangle shaped tops are wrapped with black towels for padding. The crutches themselves are made from dense wood. They have the same craftsmanship as the furniture, though they aren’t stained as dark brown nor are they sanded completely smooth. It’s not easy going, despite the fact that Kurt’s familiar with crutches since he’s hurt his ankle in the past. Both feet aren’t healed, but the left hurts more, so he balances on his right. Still, it feels good to be moving around.

Birds serenade Kurt with their songs, as he pops open a brand new toothbrush and cleans his teeth. He brushes until his wrist starts to ache. Foamy toothpaste covers his chin and drips into the sink below. The scent of coffee fills the air when he’s finished.

Kurt eats a quarter of his bowl of cinnamon flavored oatmeal. Dave sprinkles a hand full of raisins into his and finishes his second helping. He washes the dishes as Kurt sits at the table sipping his sweetened coffee.  Neither boy brings up the previous day’s conversation. 

“Feel up for a tour today?” Dave asks. He eyes Kurt’s newly bandaged feet. “I’ve got some boots for you to wear. They should be comfortable enough.”

Kurt agrees. He can’t stay cooped up in the cabin with his thoughts. “Fresh air will do me good,” Kurt says, a frown pulling down his mouth and eyes. He traces his fingers along the tabletop feeling the smooth wood. Dave fills one side of the sink with soapy water and sets the rest of the morning dishes inside.

Next to the front door is a three foot long, two-tiered shoe rack. There are several pairs of boots, most of them caked with mud, resting on the top layer. Kurt had assumed that all of the shoes belonged to Dave. He’s wrong.

Dave picks up a clean pair of black boots and brings them over. “They need a bit of breaking in, but once you do they’ll be the best shoes you’ve ever owned.”

Kurt eyes the bland material and thick soles and doubts it.  Kurt slips the right one on over his bandage and sock. His heel fits snugly against the back of the boot. The shoe is heavy. He holds up the left boot then looks at his bare foot.

“I’ll get you a thicker sock to wear for that foot. Leave the boot here,” Dave says. He disappears for a moment as he heads back towards Kurt’s room. He comes back with a single white sock.

Beads of sweat wet his brow minutes after Kurt eases his way outside. He squints as the world is suddenly brighter. When his vision adjusts, Dave is down the front steps waiting for him. Kurt wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. “It’s hot,” he complains.

Dave snorts. “Well it is summer.” He raises his hands as Kurt clunks the crutches and his body down the few steps, ready to catch Kurt if he falls.

They walk a few feet from the cabin. Kurt sees the tool shed with the tin roof. The four wheeler is parked the shadow of the building. Movement catches Kurt’s eye. A pair of squirrels dash from the other side of the cabin into the woods beyond. Their fluffy tails whip around as they dart up a tree.

“Where are we?” Kurt asks.

“Canada,” Dave replies. He turns his back towards Kurt and begins to walk towards the right of the cabin.

“Canada?” Kurt repeats in disbelief.  _We’re in a different country?_

“Did you think we were in Ohio? The state has some nice forests, but nothing compared to this.” Dave waves his hand in an arch. An orange and black butterfly chooses that moment to swoop low. It skims the air near Dave’s head then flies away. 

Kurt shakes his head. “I didn’t know what to think,” he says softly.

Dave raises his face to the sun and smiles. “There’s no place like this. Miles of nature, of freedom. It’s magnificent.”

 _Miles of no one but us._ Kurt looks around. _I’m never going to be able to escape._ Fear-tinted grief catches in his throat.

“Come on,” Dave says, continuing his way around the cabin. They pass by the shed.

Kurt asks, “What’s in there?”

“It’s my work space,” Dave explains. “My tools and stuff are in there.” He shrugs and turns his back.

The explanation leaves Kurt wanting. Dave doesn’t expound, but Kurt’s not in the pushing mood, so he leaves it be. As they make their way around the cabin, Dave begins pointing to trees and plants, saying their names and purposes. Kurt’s too busy watching his step to really pay attention. As they finish their loop Dave says, “And there’s a still a few places the poison ivy is struggling to survive.” He points a leafy green vine thing hugging the corner of the cabin. “So be careful not to rub against it.” He gives Kurt a sideways glance and a half-grin. “Unless you want an itchy red rash.” Kurt shakes his head and moves away from the spot.  “I’ll get some gloves and pull it later,” Dave says.

They finish back at the front steps. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes, but Kurt feels like he’s run a marathon. He doesn’t hurt, at least nothing like before, but boy, does he ache. _Not to mention I’m sweating like a pig._ If it weren’t for the fact that Kurt hopes Dave will get eaten by a bear, he’d be embarrassed by the large sweat-stains under his arms and around his neck.

Easing backwards, Kurt sits on the top step and lets his legs lean against the rest. It feels good to have the crutches out from under his arms. Dave shoots him a worried glance. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he replies curtly. Kurt swipes his hand through his hair, getting it off his face.

Dave stares at him for a moment. The sun dips behind a cloud, casting Dave’s body in a shadow. The older boy is sweating too. His green t-shirt bares a faded Nike symbol on the front pocket. It’s stuck to Dave’s skin in patches of sweat. “I’ll go get us some water,” Dave says. The wooden steps vibrate under Kurt’s body as Dave hunkers inside the cabin. He’s only gone for a second, but it’s enough time for depression to sink in.

 _The forest is endless,_ Kurt thinks. He knows that somewhere not too far away is the river and that field, but otherwise, Kurt can’t imagine anything but trees for miles. _Canada._ The outline of the country shuffles into Kurt’s mind, looking straight from the page in his atlas at home. _It’s the second largest country in the world,_ Kurt remembers. _And it has some of the lowest population in the world._

Kurt hears Dave before he sees him. The screen door clicks shut and Dave’s footfalls echo along the porch. “Here,” he says, handing Kurt water. Kurt twists off the top and sucks down half the bottle. Plastic crinkles as Dave does the same. He settles down on the step next to Kurt. His knee sways towards Kurt. Kurt presses his legs together, putting another few inches between their bodies.

Both men sit in silence as they finish their drinks. Dave’s quiet breaths seem like thunder in Kurt’s ears. He steals a glance at his captor out of the corner of his eye. The image of that homeless man in the park all those years ago slides into his mind. Kurt can’t recognize one man as the other. _He’s lying,_ Kurt tells himself, ignoring the voice in his head saying, _If he’s lying,_ _how did he know?_

“So that’s it?” Kurt asks abruptly, cutting off his thoughts. It’s the same unimpressed tone he used on Finn when hung up his LeBron James poster after weeks of promising Kurt it was the coolest thing ever.  

Dave’s frown made his chin jut out. “No,” he says tersely. He wipes his mouth across the back of his hand. He glances at Kurt’s feet. “The rest is too far for you to walk.”

Kurt twists the empty water bottle in his hands. He turns his gaze away from his captor. He tries to imagine what else there could be, but comes up with nothing more than he’s already seen. Dave sighs beside him, and Kurt looks his way. “I could take you on the four-wheeler.” He uses his shoulder and the bottom of his own bottle to point to the vehicle. He raises his eyebrow. “If you feel up to it.”

The challenge in Dave’s voice has Kurt grabbing his crutches before the last of his word fades to the breeze. It takes him a moment to get to his balance. Dave stands, but waits for Kurt to look at him before stomping his way down the steps. He heads for the four-wheeler, giving Kurt his back. It takes Kurt twice as long to reach their destination.

 _He keeps it on him,_ Kurt thinks as Dave shoves his hand in his back pocket and pulls out a single key. _I should hit him with a crutch and take the four-wheeler._ The plan flashes through his mind, but some of his realism has returned with his improving health. Even if he could stay on the thing, where would he go? He has no idea where he is, or how much gas the thing has. _I’m in freaking Canada._ His plan dies in a blaze of hopelessness. Kurt shakes his head, willing his mind clear. 

The engine coughs to life, sounding like a hacking crone before the sound evens out to a healthier sounding rumble. Heat hits Kurt’s legs from the tailpipe. He moves to the side to avoid the exhaust. Kurt wonders if it’s safe to ride without a helmet, but when Dave secures his crutches to the back next to the tool case and helps him settle on the back, Kurt figures it doesn’t matter.

He curls his fingers around the edges of his shorts. The seat vibrates beneath him. Dave swings his own leg over the side and sits in front of Kurt. He twists around. “Would you get out the goggles?” He points to the toolbox. “I forgot.”

Kurt thinks about resisting, just to be a bitch, but decides against it. _Where would it get me?_ He screws his torso around and opens the box. He’s careful not to knock the crutches off the side. He looks for the aforementioned goggles.

“They’re in the underneath part,” Dave says. “They don’t fit on the top.” Kurt lifts the top layer out. Two pairs of black goggles lay innocently inside. “The ones with the silver sides are yours.” Kurt reaches inside and takes both pairs out.

One goggle, the large one, is all black- black plastic, black tinted lenses, black wrap-around band. The other one is similar, except the plastic part that goes over his ears is dark silver. Numbly, Kurt hands over the all black one to Dave. He holds his in front of him.

“Shut the box,” Dave says. He slips the goggles over his face. Kurt turns to shut the box because looking at Dave leaves a lump in his stomach. Unfortunately, the box only takes a few seconds to close up and re-secure. The lump still remains.  “I know they’re not stylish, but you’re going to want to wear them or dirt will get in your eyes.” Kurt slips them over his head. The world becomes shaded. The band in the back fits snuggly against his head. “Your feet up?” Dave asks. He twists to the front and wraps his hands around the handles.

Kurt nods then realizes Dave can’t see him. “Yeah.” He licks his lips. His mouth is uncomfortably dry. Dave eases them forward before turning the wheels right. Kurt almost falls off. He reacts instinctively. His hands dart out and seize the closest thing- Dave’s shirt.

Quicker than lightening, Dave twists around and grabs Kurt’s arm. “Woah,” Dave says. He lets go of the gas. They idle for a moment. “You’re going to want to hang on,” he says as he rights Kurt up.

“I got that,” Kurt snaps. Despite the fact he sounds like a pissed cat, Dave smiles. _Screw you,_ Kurt thinks.

Dave twists around again and puts his hands back on the handles. “Come on,” he says loudly so Kurt can hear him without being face-to-face. “You’re going to like the rest. I promise.”

 _You promise?_ Kurt thinks. The words lump together like grits in his throat, killing any witty response. _I don’t want any promises from you._ Kurt lurches forward as Dave begins their journey again. Automatically, his arms jump up to grab at the wide back in front on him. Feeling very uncomfortable, but not wanting to fall off, Kurt wraps his arms around Dave’s middle. The firm muscle is hard against his chest.

They begin to pick up speed, and in a move that has Kurt gasping for breath, Dave breaks through the clearing and in to the woods. He seems to know where he’s going, but every tree and fallen log they pass has him squeezing on for dear life. They take air for a brief second. Kurt slams his eyes shut and presses his face against Dave’s back. He hopes the goggles bruise Dave’s skin.


	9. Chapter 9

** Part 9 **

The ride through the forest only lasts a few minutes before the land evens out into a field. It’s not the same one as before; it’s too small for that. Dave slows them down as the land slopes. They dip back into the trees for a brief second, and then Dave halts them next to a tree that’s wider than Kurt is tall.

Despite the short trip, Kurt’s thighs still vibrate with the roar of the engine. Kurt can’t hop down without his crutches, and he’s not too sure he can get them off the back of the ATV without smacking himself in the face, so he waits for Dave to get off and untie the ropes. Dave swings his leg over the side, careful to avoid kicking Kurt, then shoves goggles to his forehead.

There’s a fine layer of brown dust coating the lower half of his face. Dave rubs his chin against his shoulder, then, apparently not satisfied, he lifts up the hem of his shirt to use as a towel. Like someone wiping their mouth across the dinner table, Kurt feels the need to echo Dave’s action. Fortunately, having his face pressed against Dave’s back saved him from a full-on dirt bath.

Dave hands Kurt both of the crutches. He hovers like an unwanted fly as Kurt levers off the four-wheeler. It takes a second to get his balance, but then he’s good to go. “Where are we heading?” Kurt asks, looking around.

The giant tree they’re parked next to hides a good portion of the landscape, but from what Kurt can see, the trees aren’t as thick here. He peers around Dave’s body and sees the ground stained deep reddish-purple. For a brief second, adrenaline-fueled fear pounds his heart into overdrive. But then Dave shifts, and Kurt sees the cluster of blackberry trees bursting with fruit.

His captor follows Kurt’s gaze. That now familiar half-smile quirks at his lips. “They’re in season,” he says, as if Kurt had asked a question. “I’ve got some plastic bags in the tool box. We’ll pick some on our way back and eat them later for dessert.” __

Sadness crowds Kurt’s chest. _Mom used to love blackberries during the summer._ A dozen memories of whipped cream, berries, and his mom flash through his mind. Kurt remembers the summer after she had died. His dad had taken him to the local farmer’s market and together they had picked out a shopping basket full of berries - strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and a whole stack of blackberries. Dad had taken out Mom’s giant wooden mixing bowl and let Kurt go to town making a colorful array. He had let Kurt hold the whipped cream can and squirt it over their fruit. Kurt managed two bites before everything came back up all over the kitchen table. Burt had rubbed his back while Kurt sobbed. Afterwards, he cleaned up the mess while Kurt curled on the couch with his mother’s blanket and watched the _Sound of Music_.

 _Now I’ll never eat them with my Dad either._ He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to stop the tears. They drip out anyway, sliding down his face and weighing down his eyelashes.

“What’s wrong?” A hand brushes along his shoulder.

Kurt jerks from the touch, but he has nowhere to go. The four-wheeler is behind him. Dave and all of Canada are before him. “Please don’t touch me,” Kurt says, feeling as though a hand is crushing his throat. He opens his eyes and sees Dave’s hurt expression. It makes him mad. _He has no right to feel bad. He’s ruined my life._

“What’s wrong?” Kurt says hoarsely. “You’ve taken me Dave.” He steps forward and one crutch drops to the ground. Kurt only grabs hold of the other one because he needs it to move. “You’ve stolen me from my life.”  He curls his hand into a fist and hits it against the other man’s chest. Dave’s body doesn’t budge, but his face becomes stone. “My mother is dead and now you’ve robbed me of my dad.” Tears pour freely down his face, burning paths down his skin. “I’m never going to see him again.” He can’t take it. Kurt twists his head around, unable to look at Dave or stop the tears. He covers his face with his hand and cries.

Hands touch his back. There’s only one person they can belong too, but Kurt can’t push them away. He feels too damn defeated. “I’m sorry.” Dave whispers. He presses his chest against Kurt, and cradles him in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he says again, words puffing along Kurt’s ear. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

A hysterical chuckle sears through Kurt. He twists, bringing his face mere inches from Dave’s. Their bodies touch, stomach to stomach, chest to chest. He can feel the heat of Dave’s breath and hear each inhale of air.   _A lover’s embrace,_ Kurt can’t help but think. He feels no love for this man. “You’ve hurt me more than anyone else ever has.”

Dave staggers back, detaching from Kurt as if the boy is on fire. _I’ve wounded him,_ Kurt thinks. He swallows the rock in his throat. _Good._

“Kurt,” Dave utters as if the name is poisoned water after a year in the desert. His chest heaves. He looks away, but Kurt still catches the anguish in his eyes. 

An idea slides into Kurt’s mind. “Dave,” he calls out. Like a moth to a flame, the man’s head snaps to attention. “Dave, please take me home. I miss my family.”

For a moment, Kurt thinks Dave’s going to give in. The larger man looks to the ground, as if searching for an answer. His hands pulse by his sides, curling and uncurling in short bursts. But then, Dave squares his shoulders and looks up. He’s shaking his head. “You just don’t understand. I know this is different for you, but you need to give it time. Then you’ll love it just as much as I do. I know it.”

Dave reaches down and picks up Kurt’s fallen crutch. He holds it out. “Let me show you the rest, then we’ll go home and I’ll make dinner. How does chicken sound?”

In a spilt second, Kurt has a realization. _He’s never going to let me go._ He looks at the offered crutch. _If I want to escape, I’m going to have to learn everything I can about where I am, I’m going to have to get him to trust me._ The back of his foot touches a tire. _I need the keys to the four-wheeler and a path out of here._

Kurt takes the crutch. “Okay,” he says slowly. His mind is spinning like a top. He’s afraid the wrong words are going to tumble out. A full smile blossoms across Dave’s face. His eyes light up, making the green shine in the sunlight. His dimples curve beneath his flushed cheeks. Kurt swallows down his disgust. _You need to act._ “Show me.” He moves forward, gripping the crutches tight enough to tug uncomfortably against his skin.   

Dave half turns, keeping an eye on Kurt as he makes his way around the giant tree. “It’s not far, but be careful where you walk. You don’t want get stuck in any burrows.”

 _Burrows?_ Kurt’s eyes fly to the ground. _As if I don’t have enough to worry about._ “Are there, uh, lots of snakes around here?” he asks. One, because making Dave trust him involves talking, and two, because he as sure as hell doesn’t want to be killed by a snake before he can escape.

“There’s a decent amount.” Dave leads them around the tree. There are a few other big ones, but nothing compared to the giant. “But don’t worry. I’ve gotten all the ones that lived near the house.”

 _Near the house? Oh, that’s comforting…_ Kurt’s thoughts cut off as they are suddenly in a clearing. He blinks. _Did we step into a different world?_ He looks back. The ATV is out of sight, but he can still see part of the giant tree.

Dave must have caught his awed look because the man says, “Neat trick, huh?”

Kurt looks back and forth a few times. It is a neat trick. The angle of the trees and the subtle dip of the land hide the foreground well. And boy, what do they hide. “Did you plant all of this?” Kurt asks. A few hundred feet ahead lays a garden. _Garden isn’t the right word._

It’s a football field of plants. Kurt can’t make them all out from where he’s standing, nor could he identify everything if he were up close and personal. However, tomatoes hang red and juicy close to the front and what he thinks are cucumbers are right behind. The vegetation is impressive enough, but the mesh fence surrounding the whole thing is mouth-dropping. It scales at least ten feet high. The matching roof that bends above is weaved with greenery. _It must look like trees from above._

He looks at Dave. The man is wearing his half-grin, but his eyes are shining with pride. He reaches out and touches Kurt’s hand. “Come on. I’ll show you inside.” He moves a little too fast for Kurt, and he has to wait while Kurt to catch up.

There’s a loop of chain through the mesh door and wall keeping it shut. Dave slides the chain out and hangs it from a little nail hook hammered into the wooden post. “I’m still working on a better door, but this works for now,” he tells Kurt.

Kurt doesn’t say anything, but he thinks, _I don’t know anyone who could make anything like this._ And it’s clear that Dave did make it. Up close, Kurt can see places were the mesh is uneven. There are a few spots near the ground where animals have tried to dig in, but the netted-wires must go a few feet into the soil, keeping the vegetables safe from most hungry wildlife.

Inside, the smell of the fresh vegetables is tantalizing. Everything looks ripe and clean. “How did you do this?” Kurt asks.

Dave shrugs. “It’s taken a few years, but I’ve gotten the hang of growing most things I like.” There are narrow dirt paths criss-crossing throughout. Dave walks through easily, but Kurt has to watch the crutches. “I’m not self-sustaining yet, but hopefully in another few years we’ll have everything we need to live.” He flashes Kurt a hopeful smile.

The awe of the place deflates from Kurt’s chest as a lead brick settles in his stomach. _A few years._ The image of the homeless man’s face appears in his mind again. _I was eleven,_ Kurt thinks. He looks around at the plants, some tickling his ankles.

“There’s another field not too far from here. I was thinking of trying to plant wheat.” Dave points to plants as they pass, telling Kurt what they are. “I tried it once, but it didn’t work out. It would be great to have home-made flour, though.”

A heavy pressure weighs down on Kurt’s chest. _Don’t focus on what you can’t control,_ he tells himself. It’s easier said than done. The urge to sit down and cry is overwhelming. Instead, Kurt forces the heaviness away and asks, “How did you learn to do all of this?” Kurt waves his hand, encompassing the garden, the cabin, and everything else.

Dave stops. Sweat drips down his brow. He looks at Kurt, emotions warring across his face. “I…” he starts then stops. He presses his lips together then darts out his tongue to moisten them. “My dad and his friends mostly,” he finally says, voice tight.

Curiosity pokes at Kurt’s brain. He can tell Dave doesn’t want to talk about it, but then again, he doesn’t really care what Dave wants. “Your dad?” he questions. Kurt lowers his eyes and cocks his head using the look that’s gotten him his dad’s charge card more than once.

“Yeah,” Dave says. He shifts from foot to foot, then rubs a hand through the back of his hair. He turns and begins walking again, cutting off the conversation.

 _Oh, I’m not letting you get away with that._ Kurt pushes. “So you did all of this forestry and building stuff with your dad?”

His shoulders tense as Dave halts again. He doesn’t turn around as he growls, “You’re not the only one who had a good father.”

Sometimes, Kurt doesn’t know when to stop. “So he’s dead? Is that how you ended up a drunken bum?” The question hurls through the air like a spear.

Dave twists, muscles bunching beneath his sweat-stained clothing. His face is monstrous. Anger reddens his skin. His eyes are dark and the fury Kurt sees in them is only outdone by the snarl of his lips. Fear slams into Kurt’s body fast enough to leave him lightheaded. Dave takes a step towards him.

Kurt’s knees give out. His right crutch smashes into his underarm as he falls. The ache only lasts a moment, because then his feet are crashing into the ground. His unbooted foot hits hard. A scream builds in his chest, but can’t escape. All of his air is gone, forced out upon impact. His chest burns.

The world darkens as Dave’s shadow covers him. A mouthful of air whooshes through Kurt’s lungs, giving him a small burst of energy. He scrambles backwards, hands and feet grasping for leverage. He doesn’t care about the damage he’s causing his already injured foot, or the pain that’s spiking though his brain.

 _He’s going to kill me._ The thought fuels him. Kurt’s hand smashes into some vegetable. The guts of the thing slickens his palm and his hand slips. His elbow bangs against the dirt and his back hits the ground again. Dave’s body hovers over his. Fingers touch his shirt, and this time a cry of terror makes it past his lips.

Then, suddenly, Dave is gone. The heat of his body disappears in a snap. Kurt is left alone trembling on the ground. He struggles for air, needing oxygen before he can do anything else. His gasps are loud enough to wake the dead, but after a few of them he has the strength to brace his body against the one elbow that isn’t hurting.

Dave is at the other end of the enclosure, pressing his forehead against the wire-mesh wall. His shirt is tight across his shoulders. One arm is wrapped around his own middle. The other is raised. His fingers are looped through the mesh. Even from his place on the ground, Kurt can tell his knuckles are white from the strength of his grip.

 _Get up,_ Kurt tells himself. He looks around for his crutches, both are a few feet ahead. _Wow, I made it pretty far._ He flips over and crawls forward. His foot burns. _I wonder if I’m bleeding._ He doesn’t look, because he knows if he sees blood it will hurt ten times worse. He uses one crutch to get to his feet then sticks both under his arms. A bruise is already forming where the top of the crutch hit when he fell. _Great._ Kurt looks down the length of the garden at Dave, then back towards the door. _Where would I go?_ He goes forward.

As he gets closer, Kurt realizes there’s a second exit a few feet from Dave. Kurt can see the side of another shed-type building. This one’s roof doesn’t shine. “Dave,” Kurt calls out softly. The man’s shoulders tense even further. Kurt stares at his back and contemplates what to do. _Let him suffer,_ his brain says nastily. The thought feels good.

 _That won’t get me what I want._ “Dave,” Kurt says again, “what’s the rest?” He motions past the fenced-in garden towards the little building outside.

Dave’s still for a moment, then he shifts, fingers sliding through the mesh. His face is still red, and his shoulders are still tense, but that terrible anger is gone. He looks at Kurt, relief in his eyes, “A chicken coop,” he says, tone heavy. “There’s a rooster and eight hens.”

“No babies?” Kurt asks. Dave shakes his head.

“They had some in the spring. I sold them though.” He looks at Kurt through lowered eyes. “Though if you like babies, we’ll keep some of the next batch.”

Kurt nods and bites his lip. _I’ll be gone before the next batch._ It’s a promise. 

“There’s also a tool shed, stuff to feed the chickens and plants, and other things to maintain the area.” He steps towards the door and pulls off the chain. “Do you want to feed the chickens?” The question has a nervous tint to it, as if Dave’s afraid of the answer.

 _No,_ Kurt thinks. “Sure,” he says.

Dave smiles and Kurt feels sick.

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

** Part 10 **

Three days after Dave first takes him to the garden, and Kurt has named all of the chickens. The rooster he’s baptized Noah, after that douchebag Noah Puckerman from school. The rooster’s spiked comb reminds him of Puckerman’s renowned mohawk, and the animal’s cocky attitude mirrors Kurt’s ex-classmate’s perfectly. Noah struts around the enclosed chicken coop like he owns the place. His head bobs and he shakes his tail feathers as he passes by each of the hens.

Noah’s naming took only a few minutes, the eight hens took longer. There are two that look alike, with reddish-brown feathers from head to tail. They spend most of their time pecking the ground for grub. Kurt names them Mary-Kate and Ashley. He dubs the all-white girl who shoves the other hens out her way when Kurt comes with the food, Madonna. The plump, black-feather hen is Aretha, and the skinny, tan colored one with a long beak is Paris. Jessica has mostly brown feathers and a long neck. The brown and white feathered girl is Halle Berry, full name and all.  The oldest looking one, who always waits patiently to be fed behind the others, Kurt names Helen.

“Are you hungry Helen?” Kurt asks sweetly. He sticks his hand in the feed bag and throws a handful in her direction. She flutters her wings and bobs forward. “Hey.” Kurt reaches out with a crutch and guides Madonna away. “Go eat your own.”

A snort comes from Kurt’s right. “I can’t believe you named them.”

Kurt turns towards Dave. “I’m taking care of them. They deserve names.” Mary-Kate (or possible Ashley) clucks near Kurt’s foot. The top of her head brushes along his hovering calf. _I can’t believe how comfortable they are with me._ His eyes flicker to Dave’s amused face. _Just a little food and they trust me; despite the fact they’re in a cage._

“You do realize we’re going eventually eat some of them,” Dave states.

Kurt looks at him, horrified. “What? I thought they were just for eggs!” He stands up, the bag of feed hitting against his thigh.   

“Where do you think the chicken we ate came from?” Dave asks. He’s got a hammer in one hand and a bucket full of nails in the other. He’s been fixing one of the posts of the fence where the mesh had come loose. A crate full of vegetables also rests near the front entrance to be taken back to the cabin. Earlier, he had taught Kurt what a ripe head of lettuce looks like, as well as when to dig out the carrots.

“From the grocery store,” Kurt replies snappishly. Dave raises an eyebrow. Anger colors Kurt’s cheeks. He’s been doing his best to be friendly, to put on a smile, but there’s no way on this earth that Dave is killing the chickens. “You are not killing these chickens,” Kurt says, frowning.  “You can go buy new ones. Those can be your chickens. You can do whatever you want with them. These ones are mine.” He knows he sounds like a pissed-off five year old, but if Dave kills these chickens, Kurt might kill him. _And then where would I be? Stuck in this horror movie until I die._

Dave snorts again. Kurt glares. Dave shakes his head and chuckles. His eyes are cheerful as he teases. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” All of Kurt’s irritation settles into his stomach like lead. Apprehension smothers his emotions. He turns his back to Dave and sticks his hand into the bag for more feed. The chickens have had enough; Kurt hasn’t.  

“Are we almost done?” Kurt asks. Noah’s wings flutter as he hops onto the ramp leading inside the chicken coop. Kurt watches the rooster bob his head and peck at the wood.

“Yeah. I can finish the rest tomorrow,” Dave says. The bucket of nail jingles in his hand. “Give me the feed and I’ll put everything away.”

Kurt hands over the bag. Dave starts towards the small shed next to the coop. “I’m going to head back to ATV,” Kurt says. He presses his crutches into the softened ground.

“Will you be okay getting there on your own?” Worry colors Dave’s voice.

Kurt doesn’t look at the man before he answers. “I’ll be fine.” He swings his way towards the mesh fence. The quickest way back to the four-wheeler is through the garden. Kurt feels Dave’s eyes on his back the whole length of the garden.

The trip to the ATV ends too fast. He’s gotten used to the crutches and can move pretty easily around the tree roots and rocks. It’ll be a few minutes before Dave comes around the corner. Kurt leans against the giant tree and closes his eyes. _Give me the strength to get through this,_ Kurt asks silently. He doesn’t think anyone is listening, but he prays nevertheless.

***

Two more days pass in the manner of the previous. Kurt wakes up and his heart drops when he realizes he’s still in the room Dave made for him. The sight of the closed door and dresser full of items just for him bring Kurt no comfort. He eats breakfast with Dave then they head out for the garden to work and feed the chickens. By the time the sun is high in the sky, it’s too hot to work and they head back to the cabin to quiet their rumbling stomachs. Kurt spends his afternoons reading on the couch in the living room or out on the porch steps.

Dave disappears into his tool shed or stomps off to who knows where. Sometimes, he returns with things- wood, rocks, and once a dead rabbit. Kurt pretends not to know where the juicy meat came from that night at dinner. It tastes good, and the steamed carrots and broccoli crunch nicely on Kurt’s tongue.

On the sixth day since Dave took him on that first ride, Kurt is able to walk without the crutches. He still has some impressive scabs, both on his feet and his legs, but his left foot only twinges when he steps down, the right doesn’t hurt at all. They still ride to garden, because Dave says Kurt isn’t ready to walk all the way there yet, but he treads through the vines of the tomatoes checking for any that have ripened. Dave is at the other end pulling weeds from the radish patches.  

Clouds darken the sky. It pours as they zoom home. Dave shakes his head like a dog when they duck under the overhang of the porch. “Hey, watch it,” Kurt says, annoyed as water hits his face.

“Sorry,” Dave says sheepishly, though he doesn’t really look apologetic. They put their boots on the stand near the door. Dave uses a long match to light one of the oil lamps that sits on the kitchen table.  The room brightens in the low blaze.

Kurt squeezes a ring of water from his shirt. “I need to change,” he says, mostly to himself.  

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” Dave wipes his hands on his pants, but it does no good. His jeans are wet too. In a quick motion, Dave yanks his shirt over his head and throws it towards the front door. His chest is firm and muscled. Hard lines define his pecs, his biceps bulge. Dave doesn’t quite have a six pack, but his stomach is flat and a path of dark hair disappears along the solid V of his groin.

Heat flushes Kurt’s body. He curses himself for the attraction. _Look away,_ he tells himself.

Dave looks up and catches Kurt’s gaze. Kurt freezes, unsure what to do. Slowly, like a predator with his prey in sight, Dave shifts. His muscles tighten beneath his skin. He hooks his thumbs through the loops of his wet jeans. His chest rises and falls, and his breath is suddenly sharp and deep.  The tell-tale sign of arousal is visible against the line of his zipper.

Ice pours through Kurt’s veins as fear pumps through his heart. He takes a step back, and when Dave doesn’t move Kurt mutters, “I’m going to change,” and walks stiffly back to his room. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, Kurt sags against the wood. Hands trembling, he wipes his hair from his face and presses the heels of his palms over his eyes.

Footsteps creak along the hall. _Please don’t let him come in here._ Kurt’s knees feel weak and dizziness spins his head. The door to the other room bangs shut. “Thank you,” Kurt whispers shakily.

His stride slow and quiet so he can hear any movement outside his room, Kurt makes his way to the dresser. He picks out a pair of soft drawstring pants and a simple cotton shirt. It has the words ‘New York’ pressed in black block letters to the front of the fabric. Plain white briefs and matching socks come out next.

 _I should have picked up a towel._  He isn’t going back out to pick one up now. Skin over sensitive, Kurt slips the clothing on over his damp frame. Despite the humid, hot temperature, he prickles with goose-bumps.

A knock on the door makes his back tense. “Kurt,” Dave says softly. “I’m going to make lunch.”

“Okay,” Kurt calls out. He doesn’t want the other man to come inside, so he adds, “I’ll be out in a minute.” He hears Dave sigh, but then he heads towards the kitchen.

It takes Kurt five minutes to work up the courage to open his door. Then, instead of going to the kitchen, he heads towards the bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it’s kept immaculately clean. Kurt’s not messy by any means, and he’s gotten on his dad and Finn on more than one occasion to pick up after themselves, but Dave is in a category of his own when it comes to cleanliness. _He’s in a category of his own when it comes to everything._

Finally, after what seems like forever yet no time at all, Kurt takes a fortifying breath and walks to the kitchen. Dave is at the counter near the stove, chopping up a head of lettuce. A row of newly washed vegetables sits next to the sink. The little window above the sink shows that world outside is still in the midst of a thunderstorm. The single door refrigerator hums with electricity, but the only electric light in the house- above the kitchen sink- is off. Instead, Dave has littered the kitchen and living room with the oil lamps. They glow brightly enough that Kurt has no trouble seeing.

Normally, when it comes to mealtimes, Kurt takes his place at the table and waits for Dave so serve him. Nerves still jumping, Kurt can’t sit down. “Can I help?” he asks. Dave’s hand slows and he looks at Kurt over his shoulder. He glances back down at his lettuce then nods.

Kurt’s about to ask when he can do, when Dave reaches over and opens a counter drawer. It’s full of shining knives of varying shapes and sizes. He pulls out a long, narrow blade and holds it out handle first to Kurt. “You can chop the other vegetables if you want.”

Silently, Kurt stares at the knife. _You could stab him,_ he thinks. He imagines blood seeping across Dave’s green shirt and the red liquid splattering across his hands. The image makes him nauseous. Without words, Kurt takes the offered blade and sidles up to the counter. Dave dumps his lettuce into a large wooden bowl and slides the cutting board over the countertop in front of Kurt.

“I’ll set the table,” Dave says. Porcelain clinks as Dave takes dishes from the cabinet. Kurt chops.

They eat in relative silence, listening to the rain hitting the roof and wind whistling through the trees. Once, a boom of thunder has Kurt knocking his hand into his cup, but he rescues the tipping drink before it can fall. Meal almost gone, Kurt takes a chance. “Can I ask you something without you getting mad?” he asks softly.

Dave licks his lips and sets down his fork. He swallows, though he didn’t take his bite, then nods.

“You said we met that day in the park.” _When I was eleven,_ Kurt thinks with a shiver. Dave nods again; his eyes darken. The words stick to Kurt’s throat like glue. He has to push them out. “So you’ve been following me since then?”

The bigger man tilts his head, considering the question. “Yeah, on and off.” Kurt opens his mouth, but closes it when Dave continues talking. “I just wanted to check in on you, make sure everything was okay.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

 _Check in on me._ The declaration doesn’t feel good. Kurt wants to know more, but he asks a different question instead. “So, if you were, uh, watching me, how did you do all of this?”

A half-smile raises the side of Dave’s mouth. “I wasn’t always checking-in on you, especially those first few years. I spent a lot of time by myself, figuring things out. I knew about this place from when I was a kid, and I came here to think things through. The cabin was already built. I fixed it up, hauled in some modern technology,” his eyes flicker to the kitchen, “and wired up the generator.” 

“And you built things,” Kurt says questioningly. “The furniture, the sheds, the garden.”

Dave nods, eyes tightening. However, this time there’s none of the monstrous anger present.

Kurt’s breathe echoes across the table. “Did you build this place for me?” The question sears Kurt’s chest.

Dave’s jaw ticks, and for a second, Kurt’s sure the man isn’t going to answer. “No,” his captor says, surprising him. “When I came here, I just wanted to be alone. I wanted to be away from all that,” he pauses, searching for a word, “all that pollution.” His eyes narrow as if he’s remembering something particularly nasty. “People are cruel Kurt. I know you know that, but it’s the truth. They ruin the land and destroy each other.”

“Not everyone is like that,” Kurt says, though he does agree that some are.

“I know,” Dave agrees, heading nodding. He captures Kurt’s eyes with his gaze. “You’re not.”

An uncomfortable heaviness settles in Kurt’s gut. “Dave, whatever fantasy you’ve built about me in your mind isn’t true. I’m not perfect,” Kurt says before he can think.

“No, I know,” Dave says quickly. His eyes flutter to the table. His hand inches out and he brushes his fingers over the back of Kurt’s hand. “No one is, but Kurt, you’re so much better than everyone else. The things I’ve seen you do… you’re beautiful.”

Kurt yanks his hand to his chest. _What have you seen me do?_ Like many times in the past few days, Kurt scans his memory for flashes of this man and gets nothing for his efforts. Anger rolls in his chest. “Dave, don’t you know it’s wrong to stalk and kidnap people? That it’s polluted?” He throws the word back in Dave’s face.

An elbow slams into the tabletop. “You are so damn stubborn,” Dave growls, wincing at the impact of his arm.  He runs a hand through his hair and says, “I wasn’t _stalking_ you. I was protecting you!”

“Protecting me?” Kurt asks, voice rising. “From what?”

“From what?” Dave repeats incredulously.

“Yes! From what,” Kurt shouts. “If you were such a protector, why was I throw in the trash every morning or shoved into lockers.” He doesn’t mean to bring up past transgressions, especially ones that prove Dave’s point, but Kurt can’t seem to control his mouth.

Dave’s eyes shudder shut, then open again. “How about from being raped?”

 _Raped?_ The word steals Kurt’s wind. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. “Wh-what are you talking about?” As he asks the question, a memory surfaces.

“That boy.” Dave spits the word ‘boy’ like it’s a disease. “Last year. The one you dated.” Dave grips the edge of the table hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Dated?” Kurt asks.  “I’ve never dated anyone!” A picture of a charming smile and soulful hazel eyes slide into view.

“You were at a theater, that one where the actors sing the play.” A lump forms in Kurt’s throat. “He was all over you afterwards, hands down your back, mouth at your throat. I saw him.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Kurt says. “When I told him to stop he did!” Kurt remembers telling Blaine over and over again that he wasn’t ready. He remembers fingers slipping beneath the waist of his pants and pulling away, overwhelmed and frightened.

Dave bares his teeth. “You went to the bathroom. He talked on the phone, bragging to his friend that he was going to take your virginity.” Dave shakes his head violently. “I knew you didn’t want that.”

“He wasn’t there,” Kurt says shakily. “Blaine wasn’t there when I got back. He stood me up.”

“I took care of him,” Dave replies, whole body whipcord tight.

 _Oh god._ Kurt could never get ahold of Blaine after than night. He can’t bring himself to ask what Dave did.

“I knew then that I need to bring you here, away from all the evil people in this world. I needed to keep you safe.”

“What about you?” Kurt murmurs.  Dave frowns. “Who’s going to keep me safe from you?”

“How many times do I have to say I’m not going to hurt you!” Dave jerks to his feet. His chair tumbles backwards.

“I saw you earlier. The way you looked at me. You can’t deny it.” Kurt says accusingly. The words are vague, but Dave flushes, knowing exactly what Kurt is talking about. 

“No, I can’t deny that I want to be with you.”  The anger fades from his tone, and a settled sort of sweetness eases in its place. He takes a step towards Kurt. “I love you.”

Kurt cringes. “No you don’t.” he says, shaking his head in denial.

“Yes I do. Kurt, I love you,” Dave says again, taking another step. “I love the way you laugh and listen to loud, silly music. I love the way you care for your family, even though they aren’t always supportive of you.” A last step brings him to Kurt chair. He kneels, bringing his head below Kurt’s. “I love your strength of will. You’re so brave, even when the world is mean to you.” He looks up, staring into Kurt’s eyes. “I want you.” He traces his fingers along the armrest of the chair, knuckles occasionally brushing against Kurt’s skin. “But I’d never force you.”

Kurt trembles.

“I know you’re not ready,” Dave says. “But when you are, I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

 _Go away,_ Kurt prays. Dave doesn’t move. Kurt can feel the heat of his body leeching into his skin.

“And in the meantime I’ll give you everything you need.”

 _I need to go home._ The words don’t leave his throat. _I need my family. I need my life back._ He looks at Dave’s caring face and thinks, _I’m never going to be able to leave._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Kurt doesn’t talk to Dave the following morning. He can’t. His emotions clog his chest, his throat, his brain. He stays curled up in bed for the better part of the day, ignoring the knock on his door and Dave’s whispered, “Do you want to come feed the chickens with me?” 

Kurt never responds. He feels guilty later, thinking,  _What if Dave decides to eat one of the girls?_ The thought spurs him into motion. He stumbles into the living room, barefoot, then out the front door. The sun is already more west than east. The ATV is gone, and no matter how hard Kurt listens, he doesn’t hear the thrum of the engine. 

_ I need to go check on them.  _ He wants to run there now, sprint as fast as he can to make sure they’re all alive. His feet are still tender though, so he hurries back inside to shove his feet inside his boots. He doesn’t bother changing from his sleeping shorts and t-shirt.

The drive on the four-wheeler only takes a few minutes, but it takes much longer by foot. Kurt gets turned around a few times, but he finally catches sight of that giant tree. Dave’s battered vehicle is nowhere in sight, and neither is Dave. 

Still, Dave knows this place better than anyone, and he might have only been parking near the tree for Kurt. He swerves around the trees, arms out for balance. By the time he reaches the mesh fence, each breath pulls painfully through his lungs.  _Come on,_ Kurt thinks, yanking the chain free. He dashes down the narrow path, dirt exploding in short clouds under the tread of his boots. 

The back gate is closed too, and the moment it takes Kurt to pull the second chain free feels like a lifetime. The coop is in sight. He can see a few of the chickens, but not all. The chain slips free and Kurt drops it to the ground. He jerks the gate open and springs forward. 

Kurt counts. Noah is resting beneath the ramp, snug and comfortable. Madonna and Helen are pecking merrily at the remaining feed. Paris has a worm in her talon and is teasing it with her beak. His big girl, Aretha, is napping in the combined shadows of the coop and a nearby tree. Kurt can see Mary Kate, Ashley and Jessica curled up together inside through the small screened in window on the side of the coop.  

Halle Berry is nowhere in sight. “No,” Kurt whispers like a curse. He stumbles forward to twist open the lock of the fence. The chickens scatter, wings flapping and eyes wide. Kurt heads straight for the open hatch of the small structure. He doesn’t know how to unlock the whole door, so he sticks his head through the chicken-sized hole. 

It smells like a garbage can, waste and dirt and decaying feathers littering the floor. The three ladies Kurt saw outside the window make enough racket to wake the dead. Kurt even gets hit in the head with a wayward wing. None of that matters though. Halle Berry is staring at him with curious black eyes from the corner of the coop. 

Relief pours through Kurt’s veins. He laughs, chokes on the foul air, and then bangs his head on the top of the door on the way out. 

“Shit,” he curses, laughing again at his vulgarity. He rubs his head, soothing the ache. Feeling lightheaded, Kurt settles against the ramp, plywood trying valiantly to poke splinters through his shirt. He doesn’t move.  He just lays back, legs on either side of the wide board, and closes his eyes. 

The sounds of the chickens are soothing. A few of them are still showing their indignation with the constant hop-ruffle of their feet and wings. Most of the girls though have already calmed down. He can hear one of them clucking quietly to his left.  _Probably Madonna, that girl has no fear,_ Kurt thinks. Then,  _Oh my god._

He drapes an arm over his eyes and says with a manic chuckle, “I’m going crazy.” His laugh dies, strangled by the depression that weighs on his chest. Kurt thinks of his dad, wondering if the man has given up searching.  _He’d never give up._ Kurt imagines dark circles under his father’s eyes and the lines of worry, wrinkles folded into his skin.  _Please be okay._ The thought of another heart attack while Kurt isn’t there to take care of him scares him beyond belief. 

“What am I going to do?” Kurt asks, opening an eye to see which of the hens are around. Helen has grown curious and is bobbing near his foot. “Huh Helen?” He sits up and grabs her. She flutters in his hands, trying to escape. “Shh,” Kurt says, setting her on his chest. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He runs the edge of his nose through her side feathers. She smells like the forest and dust, but she’s soft and her feathers tickle his nose. The beat of her heart pounds against his finger tips. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Kurt says again. He draws her even closer, up to his neck, savoring the feel of a living thing in his arms. “I just need a hug.” She doesn’t peck him, which surprises Kurt.  _I would have pecked me,_ Kurt thinks.  _I did peck Dave._

He releases the chicken and stands. The gate of the coop is still hanging open and Noah is standing precariously close to the frame. Sighing, Kurt walks the few feet over and kicks at the rooster with his foot. Startled, Noah flaps backwards and Kurt slips through the door, closing it in one quick motion. He locks up and heads back to the cabin. 

The trip is slower this time. As he walks, Kurt takes in the scenery, really looking, for the first time since he’s traveled here. He looks at the leaves on the trees, noting their differences. He drags the pads of his fingers along the narrow petals of the little purples flowers that grow in clusters all around the area. As he gets closer to the cabin Kurt finds the same yellow flowers that have appeared on the kitchen table more than once. 

_ It is beautiful here _ . Kurt can’t deny that. When the sun is shining, the forest sparkles with color. Since the rain yesterday, the humidity has dropped, and the air is pleasantly warm. “A perfect mall day,” Kurt says. He pictures his favorite shops and food court where he gets strawberry-kiwi smoothies.

The wooden walls of the cabin jump into sight, and that familiar feeling of hopelessness clamps down on Kurt’s chest. His glances at the tool shed. The ATV is still gone. “Dave?” Kurt calls out, just in case. There’s no answer. 

He heads back into the house, boots banging against the porch steps. The door is ajar.  _It’s not like anyone is going to come in and steal anything,_ Kurt thinks as he remembers running out without shutting the door. Still, he calls out, fingers wrapped around the door frame. “Hello? Dave?” 

The only reply is silence. Tentatively, Kurt steps inside. The door clicks shut and he looks around the room. Everything seems the same. The same wooden table to his right followed by the kitchen, and the couch, chair and bookshelves to his left. The fireplace and hallway lay ahead.  _Gaga, you’re being stupid. There definitely aren’t any bears in here._ Kurt’s not even sure there are bears in the Canadian forest.  _Only moose._

He walks down the hall and checks his bedroom anyway. It’s just the way he left it, bed unmade and stupid, beautiful furniture. The bathroom is empty as well. 

_ Now Dave’s room.  _

Kurt been avoiding his captor’s room the way a mouse avoids a cat.  Logically, he knows that he should have searched it the moment he had a chance. However, he hasn’t been able to force himself to go inside, too afraid of what he would find. He takes a deep breath and twists the handle. 

Physically, it’s not much different from his room. There’s a queen sized bed to the right of the door and a single nightstand on the other side of the bed. There’s an unlit oil lamp sitting on top along with a closed copy of  _1984._ Across from the bed is a dresser, half the size of Kurt’s; a mirror hangs above. The workmanship is the same- dark, smooth wood and golden handles. The major difference is that Dave’s room has a small desk nestled in the far right-hand corner with a window high above. 

Kurt steps inside. The musky scent of earth and sweat hits his nose.  _It smells like him,_ Kurt thinks. Navy blue sheets cover Dave’s bed. Four matching pillows sit neatly at the headboard. A tan colored comforter is folded at the foot of bed. Walking forward, Kurt scans everything, unsure what he’s looking for, just searching for anything useful. 

The top of the dresser is littered with items. The clutter doesn’t fit the rest of the house, so Kurt touches everything, figuring out what’s what. A bundle of dried flowers, of which kind Kurt has no idea, lies across the back of the dresser. There’s a shallow bowl, red and blue in color, which holds a variety of stones. They’re nothing special, just brown and red and black pebbles. It’s more a child’s collection than an adult’s. Another bowl, larger than the first, holds lumps of honey colored wax. Nothing has a wick, so Kurt’s not sure what Dave uses them for. 

More interesting is the miniature carved statue of what appears to be a Native American chief. The little man wears a long robe that’s been painted the color of wheat. A colorful headdress crowns the statue’s head. Kurt picks it up and runs his thumb over the man’s features. “This is amazing,” he says softly. Not wanting to break it, Kurt gently sets it back in place.      

There are a few others things on the dresser- a little cloth bag full of coins Kurt doesn’t recognize, a worn deck of playing cards held together with a rubber band, and a tin box of chewing tobacco. Kurt doesn’t remember Dave ever chomping on the nasty stuff. The box seems untouched. Kurt moves on. 

Dave’s desk isn’t wide, just large enough for a single man and his work. Kurt imagines Dave’s elbows poking over the sides as he sits to do his business. It’s not the same workmanship as the other furniture in the house. The dark wood matches, but the innate carvings- spirals and round leaves- on the legs and on the top of the shelves cries the work of an artist, not a young craftsman. The thing is older than anything else too. Dings and scratch marks mar the surface. The protruding knob on middle drawer has been replaces with something newer than those of the drawers on either side. 

A simple wooden chair is pushed inside the hallowed space underneath the tabletop. Kurt draws it back and takes a seat. He runs his hands over the empty surface of the desk, feeling multiple indentations. There’s a curious line, a little longer than the length of piece of paper, which cuts through the wood near the back of the desktop. It’s not deep. Kurt has no idea what could have done such a thing. 

Three shelves tower on each side of the desk with a single long shelve bridging them across. Only two of the shelves hold anything. Kurt sticks his hand in the bottom two on the left side and pulls out the items. One shelf held a stack of blank paper. Kurt flips through the pages, double checking that there’s no important information written on the lines. The other shelf held a brown leather journal. He unties the string around the cover and opens to random page. 

There’s a sketch of a tree and photo of the same tree tucked in crease of the journal. Beneath the drawing is the label  _Fraxunus nigra (Black Ash)._ The whole book is like that. Some sketches have photos, some don’t. Trees and flowers and bushes and vines are all identified. Ones that are edible are marked so, and ones that have healing properties list the medicine and injuries they belong to. The journal is fascinating, but Kurt has drawers to look through. He sets the book and papers back in their places. 

He starts with the middle drawer, the biggest. As he pulls it open, pens roll towards him. There are four, and they’re the nice kind, the type you keep forever and replace the ink when needed. Kurt ignores them and lifts out the thick manila envelope instead. “Now this is interesting,” Kurt whispers. He opens the flap and shakes out the contents inside. 

At first, he doesn’t know what he’s looking at. He spreads the photos out. One captures his attention. “This is my house.” The words ghost across the air and stinging Kurt’s lips. He picks up the picture and stares. It’s his old house, where he and Dad lived before they all moved into the new place with Carole and Finn. The tree with the tire swing stands proud and tall in the front yard.  _We cut down that tree when I was thirteen after a storm killed most of it._

Kurt closes his eyes. His mouth goes dry and the protective part of his brain says,  _Don’t look._ He doesn’t listen. Instead, he listens for any sign of Dave, and when he hears nothing he gets up and grabs the oil lamp from Dave’s nightstand. The lamp settles easily on the desk and brightens the whole area once Kurt lights the wick. He slides back into the chair, elbows stiff against the arms. 

One by one he goes through the pictures. There are three hundred and six of them. Kurt counts them twice. Some are of Kurt doing various things- riding to school, shopping at the mall, reading on the back porch, talking on the phone at Dad’s garage. Other pictures are like the house. They mark things in Kurt’s life- his SUV, McKinley High, the church where Dad and Carole got married, his mother’s grave. 

“God.” He stuffs the pictures away and buries his hands in his hair. “What am I going to do?” he says for the second time that day. Despite the fact that Dave leaves him alone and lets him walk around, Kurt can’t just run away. He’s in the middle of the Canadian forest, which is endless. Kurt could walk for days on end and never run into anyone else.  _I could steal the ATV._ The idea is appealing. Now that Kurt’s ridden on it, he’s pretty sure he could drive it, if he could get the key. Dave may let Kurt roam, but he never lets the key leave his person. Then again, he runs into the same problem with ATV.  _I have no idea where to go._

Kurt tugs on his hair, letting the pain distract him for a moment. “Focus.” He puts the envelope back into the drawer.  _I need to know more._ He opens the other two drawers. The left one holds another journal with designs and instructions for building furniture and gardens and other things a man would need to know to be self-sufficient.  Kurt shoves it away. 

The right drawer holds a single photograph and a folded piece of paper. Tentatively, Kurt takes them out. The photo is of a much younger Dave, maybe ten or eleven. He still has the same serious eyes, but his whole demeanor, slouched shoulders and wide grin, speaks of comfortable happiness. There’s a man with the same hazel eyes and broad frame standing behind the boy with an arm draped over his shoulders. He has a small belly, graying hair and a Van Dyke beard.  They’re both wearing camping gear- thick jeans and boats and brown shirts. Packs lay at their feet, filled to brim. A tent stands in the distance, sandwiched between two trees. 

Kurt flips the picture over. “Dad and David,” he reads aloud. He turns the picture over and looks again. “Who are you?” he asks to an empty room. “How did you get to be like this?” 

He unfolds the paper. Kurt was expecting a letter. Instead, he finds what appears to be a typed page of a story. He reads through the words, trying to find meaning. It doesn’t make sense. The number one-twenty-four sits centered at the bottom of the page. The cross shaped creases of the paper are deep, as if the page has been folded and unfolded many times. “I don’t understand,” he says, frustrated. Frowning, Kurt reads the page again then puts it and the photo away.   

His knees and back crack as he stands. The world outside the window has grown dim.  _How long have I been sitting here?_ Kurt wonders. He extinguishes the lamp and puts it back on the nightstand. He has to wait a few second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Traveling back into the hall, he shuts the door behind him and calls out, “Dave? Are you here?” 

There’s no answer. Kurt grabs a lamp from the kitchen, lights it, and heads for the front door. Stepping outside, he looks around. The ATV is still gone. “Hmm.” The sun is setting in west¸ behind the cabin, and the sky is pink and orange.  _Red sky at night, sailor’s delight._ The old saying pops into his head.  _It’s going to be a beautiful day tomorrow,_  Kurt thinks.  _Not that it matters. What am I going to do? Feed chickens with my kidnapper?_

Kurt takes a deep breath and goes back inside. His stomach grumbles. He hasn’t eaten anything all day. He set the lamp on the kitchen table and flips the switch to the only electric light in the house. It buzzes to life overhead and Kurt opens the fridge door. He stares for a second before pulling out the ingredients to make French toast. “At least I can eat something I want to eat.” It’s not really a fair statement, because while Dave’s meals aren’t fancy, they’re nutritious and mostly tasty. He finds maple syrup on the wire pantry rack next the fridge. 

When his meal’s done he washes up then goes outside again. The sun is down.  _It’s got to be at least nine or ten,_ Kurt thinks.  _Dave’s been gone since this morning._ A tingle of worry creeps down his spine. He goes back inside and heads for the bookshelves. 

He bypasses the fiction books and takes a plant identification guide off the shelf. “Might as well start learning something useful.” He thinks about the journal in Dave’s desk.  _I wonder where he went._

Kurt tries to pay attention. He runs his fingers down the lines of words, reading. He looks at the pictures, trying to place trees and flowers he’s seen. But every noise from outside has his head jerking towards the door. The lamp burns. A knot forms in his stomach. 

He snaps the book shut and tosses to the other side of the couch.  _I smell._ He sniffs his shirt. Standing up, Kurt makes his way to the bathroom. He hadn’t wanted to be in the shower when Dave came back, but it’s not like the man has come in any other time Kurt’s cleaned himself. He sheds his clothes and starts the water. It chugs out that rusted brown color first, like always, but after a minute it runs clear and warm. He tugs the part for the showerhead and water sprays down to the tub below. 

He showers for a long time. The water feels good, and Kurt lets his mind drift while it beats down on his skin. He tries to think of everything he knows of Canada, but comes up frighteningly unknowing.  _The public school system at work again._ He scrubs himself clean, careful of the tender places where scabs decorate his skin. 

When he’s done, steam clouds the mirror. He towels off, capturing every droplet he can. “Damn it,” he curses.  _I forgot clothes to change into._ Cloth wrapped around his middle, Kurt eases open the bathroom door and pokes his head outside. He doesn’t hear anyone and Dave isn’t in sight. He dashes to his room, door snapping shut behind him. 

Shirt and drawstring pants on, Kurt pads out to the living space again. “Dave?” he questions.  He checks for the four-wheeler again.  _What if something happened to him? What if he’s dead?_ He presses his nails into his palms.  _How will I get home?_

Mouth achingly dry, Kurt goes inside for water. He curls his legs under his body and picks up his book again. Time ticks by, slow and torturous. “I’d kill for a tv.” The sounds of night, crickets, owls and other creatures parade outside the cabin, annoying Kurt to no end.  _I’d trade my whole Marc Jacobs collection for the sounds of tires, car horns, and the occasional drunk neighbor._

He gets up and starts pacing the room. The sound of the ATV rumbles outside. Kurt runs to door and flings it open. It’s too dark to see; he has to go back for the lantern. The lights of the four-wheeler are on, and Kurt can see Dave’s broad shoulders and his helmet covered head. There are three plastic containers, the kinds that people put spare gasoline in, strapped to the back of the ATV. A cardboard box is next to the containers. 

Dave cuts the engine and the lights go off, but the lantern Kurt’s holding shines bright enough that he can still see the man, the vehicle and the outline of the tool shed. Dave unstraps the gas containers and sets them against the wall of the shed and grabs the box. He heads for the cabin. 

As he thumps up the steps Dave shifts the box in his arms and says, “Thanks for coming out here with the light.” He eases inside, dropping his load on the kitchen table. 

Kurt follows, letting the door slam shut behind him. He stares at the man. Dave might have left the helmet with the ATV, but the off-roading goggles rest on his forehead. He’s got a slight tan where the straps wrapped around his face. He’s covered in dirt. He’s been off playing on the ATV all day. 

Anger explodes across Kurt’s chest.  “Where the hell have you been?” he shouts. He slams the lamp on the table. Oil sloshes against the glass and almost extinguishes the flame. 

Dave blinks. A frown pulls across his face. “What do you mean?” 

_ What do I mean?  _ “What do I mean? I mean, where the hell have you been?”

“I did a supply run.” Dave says defensively. He grabs the back of chair. “I thought you’d like the time alone.” 

“You were gone all day. I had no idea where you were. For all I knew you were dead in some ditch somewhere or killed by a moose.” Kurt lets the anger spread through his body. It makes him feel strong. 

Dave’s frown deepens. His mouth opens, but suddenly, his whole body shifts. A warm look eases onto his face. “Were you worried about me?” 

“Dave,” Kurt shouts, flinging his arm forward. “I’m here all alone, in a place I know nothing about. If something happened to you I’d die.” The words fly from his mouth. They hit Kurt as hard as they hit Dave. Kurt closes his eyes. When he opens them again Dave is pawing through the box. 

“Seriously?” Kurt snaps. “Now is not the time to be going through your junk. You need to talk to me!” 

Dave straightens. “Here,” he says. Kurt stares dumbly. “I got this for you.” 

Slowly Kurt reaches out and takes the case.  “You got me a cd?” Dave nods and sticks his hand back in the container. This time he takes out a small boom box.   

“I noticed you haven’t used the personal player in your room, so I thought I’d get a bigger one that we could both listen to.” Dave sets it on the table. 

Hands shaking, Kurt opens the plain case. A lump forms in his throat. “You got me the soundtrack to  _Rent?_ ” 

Dave shrugs. “I knew you were upset. I had to go get fuel for the ATV. We’ve been driving it more than I usually do. They had some at the store.” 

_ There’s a store within a day’s driving distance,  _ Kurt thinks. Dave hands him two more cds. “Broadway’s Greatest Hits and Now 25,” Kurt reads. He looks up and finds Dave staring at him.

“There wasn’t a great selection,” Dave says apologetically. 

“No, these are great.” Kurt snaps  _Rent_  from its case. He slides the boom box cd player across the table. “Does this already have batteries?” Dave nods, eyes glued to Kurt’s face. Kurt sets the cd inside and turns it on. 

Music blares to life, the loudest thing Kurt’s heard in forever. The voices of the cast sing.  _Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes._ Tears pool in Kurt’s eyes. 

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Dave says, coming forward. His hands hover near Kurt’s shoulders before dropping away. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

_ I feel like I’ll never stop crying.  _ “No,” Kurt says. He wipes at his face. “I’m okay.” Droplets slide down his cheeks. “This is just really nice.” He licks the tears that catch at his lip and closes his eyes to listen to the music.

When the song is over he looks at Dave. “Thank you.” Dave nods and gives Kurt a tentative smile. For the first time in a long time, Kurt smiles too. 

 


	12. Chapter 12

** Part 12 **

Avril Lavigne’s _Girlfriend_ is blaring when Dave stomps his boots outside on the porch. The rain is coming down hard, but Kurt’s had the front door propped open for the better part of the afternoon. A small puddle idles past the screen door, growing minutely as times passes.  

Dave’s spent most of the day hidden in his tool shed. Kurt stuck his head outside once after _Now 25_ had played through the first time, but Dave had the door shut to keep the rain from pouring inside. _He’s building something,_ Kurt thinks, though he hasn’t heard any loud tools. Not to mention Kurt’s not even sure there’s electricity in the shed. _Probably not._ Curiosity taps at his mind, but it’s not strong enough to warrant getting soaked.  

Kurt looks up from the pan of vegetables on the stove as the screen door opens. Dave shakes his head like a dog then leans down to untie his shoes. He toes them off and sets them on bottom rung of the rack to dry. Water drips to the floor spiraling toward the larger puddle. Dave glances at Kurt and says, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to change.”

He disappears down the short hall and into his room. The door doesn’t shut all the way, and if Kurt leans at the right angle he can catch a glimpse of the man’s wide shoulders through the opening. Kurt makes sure not to look. Instead, he turns his attention back to stirring dinner. The scent of garlic tickles his nose, but it’s the smell of the onions that makes his mouth water.

Obviously of the same mind, Dave comes from his room, new t-shirt and jeans clinging to his still damp body, and says, “Smells good.” He sniffs the air and moves to Kurt’s side.

Fingers darting forward, Dave snatches a stalk of broccoli from pan.

“Hey,” Kurt says hitting the top of Dave’s hand with the wooden spatula. Dave shoots him a wounded look and sticks his fingers in his mouth. “You can wait five minutes until it’s done.”

Dave gives Kurt one of his half-grins and says, “Yes sir.” His tone is light and playful, but it leaves Kurt feeling off-balance. He turns his back and stirs the vegetables again. They twirl around in the pan, bright and colorful, but Kurt’s hunger has suddenly fled. The whole thing is utterly too domestic.

“You look nice,” Dave says, plates clinking together as he slides them from the cabinet.

Kurt glances down at his outfit, form-fitting black jeans and lightweight buttercream top. It feels cool and slinky against his skin. “Thanks.” Dressing up had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Dave’s voice is low, testing, when he says, “This is the first time you’ve worn any of the nice clothes I got you.” He returns near Kurt’s side, brushing dangerously close to Kurt’s body as he reaches up to grab two wooden cups.

“I didn’t feel like it,” Kurt says. He purposely doesn’t move as Dave comes and goes from his side. “And my legs were too scratched up to wear anything rough against my skin.”

Dave freezes near the table, large and shadowed out of the corner of Kurt’s eye. “But you feel better now?” Dave doesn’t ask, ‘So you feel better with me?’ but Kurt can tell that’s what he’s questioning.

Kurt doesn’t know how to answer that. Does he feel better? Physically, yes. His legs don’t sting, even though the scratches aren’t a hundred percent healed. He can walk- _run_ \- on his feet again. He’s gained back a few pounds and his ribs aren’t jutting out like a skeleton’s. Mentally- well, Kurt’s sure that Dave isn’t going to rape and murder him anymore. But… _I’ve been kidnapped by a delusional man who thinks he’s in love with me. How much ‘better’ can I feel?_

He shrugs and stirs the vegetables some more. “Ready to eat?” Kurt says, deciding to ignore Dave’s question.

Dave looks at him for a long moment then nods. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Can you turn off the music?” Kurt asks, then immediately wishes he didn’t. _I don’t want to talk to him,_ Kurt thinks. He curses his dad for all those times he forced Kurt to turn off his music or the television while they ate dinner.

“It’s family time Kurt _,”_ Burt would say.

 _I don’t want family time with Dave._ However, it’s already too late. Dave flip offs the cd player, hovers near the table for a second, glances at Kurt, then finally takes a seat. Biting the inside of his cheek, Kurt brings the pan of vegetables to the table and serves both of them healthy portions. He sets the empty pan in the sink for washing and grabs the bowl of pasta from the counter.

The second Kurt sits down Dave begins to eat. He shovels food into his mouth, licking the tines of the fork after he chews his first mouthful. Kurt takes a drink of water and stares as his captor devour his meal. Half the plate is empty before Dave slows down.  Cheeks bulging like a chipmunk, Dave looks up from his food. He swallows, and lowering his eyes, says, “Sorry, I was hungry.”

It’s so quiet in the cabin that Kurt feels the need to answer. “Well, you haven’t eaten since this morning, and you’ve been outside doing who knows what all day.”

Dave nods and takes a long chug of his water. It thumps against the table when he sets his cup down again.  “I’m not used to anyone cooking for me. Even when I lived with my dad, he wasn’t a big cook.” Suddenly, Dave tenses. Kurt knows he didn’t mean to mention his dad.

 _Now’s the time,_ Kurt thinks. _Ask him._ “Dave,” Kurt says gently. He flattens his palms along the smooth tabletop. “Tell me about how you ended up here.”

Immediately, tension wrinkles Dave’s forehead and draws his mouth tight across his face His shoulders hunch and he shakes his head. “Please,” Kurt says. Dave’s gazes snaps up to Kurt, but his lips just press together harder. Red colors his cheeks. Kurt looks down. Steam rises from his food, skimming across his face. Slowly, he looks back and reaches his hand across the table. His fingers brush along the side of Dave’s hand. “Dave,” he says, “I will never be able to return your feelings if I don’t know you.”

Dave’s hand twitches. Kurt’s stomach balls into a knot. He feels like he might be sick. “You do know me,” Dave says, voice dragging over sandpaper.

Kurt forces himself to run his fingers across Dave’s knuckles. “I don’t know anything about you.”

His chair is loud as Dave abruptly stands. It wobbles but the man darts out to grab it before it topples over. “You know what’s important. You know the man I’ve become.” He drags his hand through his hair. It’s still wet from earlier, and he wipes it on his jeans. “The rest doesn’t matter.”

Kurt rises to his feet and takes a step closer to his captor. “It matters.” Dave’s eyes flutter to the floor, and in that second Kurt thinks, _he isn’t going to tell me._ “Dave,” Kurt says quickly. The man looks up and Kurt moves forward and wraps his fingers around Dave’s bicep. “All of your past makes you who you are. I’ll never love you if I don’t know.”

A raspy gasp rips through the room. Dave’s tongue flickers out, wetting his lips. He nods. “Okay.” He grabs the back of the chair and moves it back to the table. Kurt lets go of Dave’s arm and takes a seat. Dave follows. They sit for a minute, Dave staring at the table. Kurt locks his fingers together and settles them on his lap.

Finally, Dave speaks. “My parents split when I was really young.” He smiles that half grin, quirked mouth; it’s not a happy gesture. “I don’t even remember a time when they were together.” He glances up, maybe to check if Kurt’s listening, or maybe just to take strength from Kurt’s being.

 _Oh, I’m listening._

Seeing whatever he needed, Dave continues. “I lived with my mom at first. In Lima, Ohio.” Kurt’s stomach drops. He wracks his brain for any woman with a son Dave’s age. He comes up empty-handed. “I was there until I was about six.” He shakes his head. “She was pretty then, a little overweight, but she had this blonde hair that curled in waves down her back. She loved wearing make-up.” He holds up his hands motions to the table. “She had this huge vanity where she would sit for hours putting it on.”

Dave’s hands drop. “Then she met this guy. I don’t remember his name, but he was tall and dark-skinned. Suddenly, she had a lot less time for me.” Anger narrows his eyes. “My dad took her to court again for custody. He won.” Dave looks up, his face loosens. “At first, I didn’t want to live with him, because he lived far away from all of my friends and the things I knew.”

“I moved with him to Quebec.” Kurt’s eyes widen, Dave catches the look and chuckles. “Yeah, it was strange at first. Most of the people spoke French, though at the time my dad only spoke it in broken sentences. There was a lot more greenery, though we did live in the city. I ended up loving it way more than Ohio.”

“Why did your dad live in Canada?” Kurt asks.

Dave takes another loud breath. “He got a job with a local university. He was an archeology professor.” He smiles, and this time it’s a real grin. “His office had all of these cool skeletons and artifacts. His specialty was Native North Americans, specifically the First Nations who lived in Canada.” Kurt flashes to the little statue on Dave’s dresser.  

“When I was seven he published a book that he had been working on for years. It went over really well in the academic community, and he was commissioned for a second one. He packed us up as soon as school was out and we spent the summer camping through the forest with a few local descendants of the First Nations.” Before Kurt can ask, Dave adds, “It was about a hundred miles from here. I’m sure there were local natives in this area many years ago, but most of their descendants live near the outskirts of the cities, some on reservations.”

Then as if he hadn’t broken the story, Dave continues. “That summer I learned a lot about what nature had to offer. There was this man, he was Kwantlen,” and Kurt has no idea what that means, “named Henry and he took me under he under his wing. My dad would spend his evenings writing in his notebooks and Henry would show me the wonders of plants and animals.” Dave smiles at Kurt. “Henry’s the one who taught me to carve.”

“For the next five years I went to school in Quebec, but in the summers, my dad and I would spend our time learning how the people of the First Nations lived.” Dave pauses and reaches for his drink. Kurt wants to take a drink too, but he doesn’t want to move and crack the moment. “When I was twelve my dad had to take a summer class to make some extra money. He had never finished his book. I begged him to send me to Henry without him. Eventually, he gave in and I spent the summer with Henry’s tribe.” Dave bows his head, lost in memories. “It was one of the best times of my life. I wrote to my dad, and sometimes my mom, though she never wrote back, and I spent every second learning how to be one with nature. The things Henry and his people could do, well, I could never match their skill.”

Kurt looks around and thinks, _I think you’re pretty skilled._

“When I started school that year I began having trouble. I was never one to love sitting in a classroom learning, but after that summer I just couldn’t understand why going to school was important. After we had our winter break, my dad pulled me out and began to homeschool me. I stayed about three months before heading toward Henry’s tribe. My dad would come and visit every few weeks, but he always had to go back to work.” Suddenly, there are tears in Dave’s eyes. “Henry died that August. He got liver cancer, and went to the doctor, but it was too late for them to do anything.” He wipes the back of his hand across his face.

Dave’s voice is deep when he says, “My dad came to his funeral. I remember the weight of his hand on my shoulder as he held me. We spent a week with the tribe helping them with all of Henry’s arrangements. Then my dad took me camping. We used his old tent and built fires in the woods. It was just the two of us. I began to feel better about Henry’s death, after all I still had my dad.”

Dave stops and looks at Kurt again. Kurt freezes with the grief in that look. Dave’s gaze rakes over Kurt’s body. He looks like he’s dying for a hug, for support, but Kurt doesn’t move. Dave isn’t his friend; he isn’t his lover. “Night fell, and my dad was telling me stories about some of the tribes he had studied. There was this nose to the left of us, and he got up to check. Wolves were common in the area, so he picked up a gun just in case.” Dave’s breathes rasp across the dinner table and bat against Kurt’s chest. “He was only gone for a second. I heard him shout, then curse. I got up and ran. He wasn’t far, crouched on the ground. There was dead snake near his feet, head beaten in by the butt of the gun. He had been bitten.”

All the blood in Dave’s face fades away and his face turns ashen. “I ran for help. I don’t know how long it took me to get back to the tribe, but when we got back to my dad, he was dead.”

Horror crawls up Kurt’s spine. _His father and father figure died so close together._ “Dave, I’m so sorry.”

Dave shrugs, like it all means nothing, but Kurt knows better. “I was taken back into the city. Social workers told me they were looking for my mom, but I hadn’t heard from her in years. Plus, I didn’t want to move back into the city. I ran away, back to the tribe. Legally, they weren’t allowed to keep me, but Henry’s family hid me for a while. I would leave for weeks at a time, living by myself off the land. I would check in every so often, get food, necessities, and head back out. It was during one of those times I found this place.”

Kurt imagines being thirteen and living alone in the forest. He can’t fathom it at all. _Especially after my parent just died._ After his mom had passed away, having his dad around was the only thing that got him through some days.  

“I got away with that for about eight months. Then I went back to the reservation and the social workers were there with the police. They dragged me back to the city where my mom was waiting.” This time it’s Kurt who sucks in air. “She looked so different than before. Her hair was cut short, and dyed black. She had these bags under her eyes.” Dave closes his eyes.  “She looked ancient. I remember her taking my hand and her skin was cracked and dry. She hugged me and cried, and said she was so glad to see me.”

He brings his hands together, fingers curling into fists. Kurt watches as disgust and anger seep into Dave’s expression.  “She was still living in Lima, but not in the same house. She had moved in with these two guys, Jake and Scotty.” Dave snorts, but there’s no humor in the sound.  “They were mongrels. They had this pet dog they would kick and starve and laugh when it whined. The two of them worked part time at this gas station right outside the city, and they sold drugs on the side. My mom,” Dave presses his fists together, knuckles flushes red then white, “would sleep with them just for a high. They would drink, leaving bottles all over the house. Eventually, I picked up one and began as well. The alcohol would numb the pain that I felt. I got to the point I was drinking all the time. Sometimes, just to be cruel Jake and Scotty would lock me in this little closet of a room for hours. It had no windows, nothing. Just a little bed. Most days I wanted to die. Then I met you.”

Silence falls. Kurt stares at his plate. _My food’s gone cold._ The thought runs through his mind, and Kurt almost laughs, because he really doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel like eating. Eventually, Kurt looks up. Dave has his face buried in his hands. Kurt can’t tell if he’s crying, but his whole body screams grief. Quietly, Kurt rises from his chair, bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. He touches Dave’s back.

Dave starts and jerks up. Tears drip down his face. He lifts his shirt and tries to wipe them away. “I’m sorry,” Dave says.  

Kurt doesn’t move. He spreads his hand wide and says, “Me, too.” A sob chokes in Dave’s throat. He leans forward and presses his head against Kurt’s stomach. Kurt’s hand comes up without his permission and cups the back of Dave’s head. “Me, too.”

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

** Part 13 **

Kurt wakes to the smell of coffee. It filters through his closed door, strong in the cooler morning air. He stretches, still laid across his blue sheets, blanket tangled near his feet. It’s a scent he hasn’t smelled for a while, and he takes a moment, closing his eyes, to enjoy the way it teases his senses. _I can almost pretend I’m at home and Dad is brewing a pot of decaf._ Kurt stretches again, then rolls to his side, turning his back on the sunlight and wishing sleep to return. He doesn’t want to get up and face the day. Face Dave.

After they had parted ways last night, Dave quiet and shamefaced, Kurt sat in bed, unable to sleep. Dave’s story played in mind, cycling like a never-ending record. _It doesn’t make what he’s done right,_ Kurt thinks. Kurt forces himself to think of his dad, of Finn and Carole. _They probably think I’m dead._ Kurt squeezes his eyes shut.

Eventually, the need to pee wins out. He can hear Dave in the kitchen, sink running, but the man doesn’t make an appearance on Kurt’s way to the bathroom. There are fresh towels folded on the counter, taken in from the short clothesline out back. After relieving himself, Kurt decides to take a shower. He stays under the spray until the water runs cold, and even then he’s hesitant to get out. He’s not sure what he’s going to say to Dave, or what he should say.

The sink has stopped running by the time Kurt finally feels brave enough to leave the bathroom. He catches sight of Dave’s back; the man is sitting at the table, reading or working on something. Kurt slips into his room, dropping the towel around his waist as he tugs on underwear. He decides on jeans and a sleeveless yellow top to start the day. It’s not super fancy, but Kurt’s not up for looking fabulous, just functional in the summer heat.

Dave’s still in the chair as Kurt pads out, barefoot, into the living space. His captor turns as Kurt comes closer. “Morning,” Dave says softly. He rises from his seat and heads for the counter. There’s an old fashioned percolator, silver slightly tarnished, plugged in to the one power strip in the whole cabin. Dave slides a waiting coffee mug near the pot and pours coffee in the cup. “Here,” he offers.

Kurt takes take mug. It’s warm in his hands. “Thanks.”

“There’s milk in the fridge and sugar on the table.” Kurt glances at the table and sees a small, white porcelain sugar container. He pours enough milk to tan his coffee and two spoonsful of sugar. He settles in the chair adjacent to Dave’s and sees an open journal. It’s not from the desk in Dave’s bedroom, but it’s similar in quality with a brown leather cover and thick, off-white pages.

It’s opened to a half-finished sketch of the large garden and chicken coop. Kurt stares at it for a moment before taking a sip of his coffee. “You can draw really well,” Kurt says.

Dave shrugs. That half-grin makes an appearance as he takes a seat. “I’m passable. You should have seen what my dad could do.” His eyes widen, as if he can’t believe he said that. Kurt isn’t ready to handle another emotional outbreak like the day before, so he keeps quiet and drinks his coffee.

Time stretches like taffy, thick and slow, until half of Kurt’s mug is empty and he can’t take it anymore. He rises, saying, “I’m going to go out to the garden and feed the girls.”

Dave’s head snaps up, tearing his attention from running the edge of his pencil along the journal’s side. “Oh,” he says softly, “I already did that this morning.” Red colors his cheeks. “I thought, if you’re up to it, I could show you someplace special today.”

“Special?” Kurt asks. He shifts in his seat, shoulders suddenly tight.

“Yeah.” Dave’s head bobs. “I thought, as kind of a thank you for listening yesterday.”

Kurt thinks of places that Dave could deem special. _Maybe he’s taking you to see the tribe._ The thought sends a spark down his spine.

“It’s only an hour drive, and since it’s not as hot as it has been, I thought it would be the perfect time.” Lines pull at the corners of Dave’s eyes. They match the anxious set of his mouth.

“Sure, what else do I have to do?” Kurt says with a shrug. Then his fingers spasm around the coffee mug as he realizes how those words could be taken. So he follows up the statement with a small grin he doesn’t feel.

Dave’s whole body relaxes. He smiles. “Why don’t you eat, and I’ll go pack for the trip.”

 _Pack?_ Kurt thinks. He wants to ask, _What do we need to bring?_ But Dave is already in action, sweeping his journal off the table and striding to his room.

“Guess I’ll eat,” Kurt says to an empty kitchen.

***

The ride to Dave’s special place is uncomfortable. By the time Dave finally stops, Kurt’s butt and thighs are aching from the strain of gripping the ATV seat. His back is complaining too, because anytime they flew over a hard bump, the bag and tool box strapped to the back of the four-wheeler reminded Kurt that they were there. The skin of his face feels sticky and dirty, the goggle mask may protect his eyes, but it doesn’t keep him clean.

 _Good thing I wore a hat,_ Kurt thinks as his legs meet the ground. They wobble and threaten to collapse. It’s definitely not as humid as it has been, but when the sun peeks from behind the thin clouds, its rays still hit Kurt’s skin hard. His arms are already pink, despite the homemade sunscreen Dave gave him earlier.

“You okay?” Dave asks. He grabs Kurt’s upper arm, steading his body.

“I think my muscles have turned to jelly.”

A low chuckle blows by Kurt’s ear. “Yeah, the ATV can do that after a long ride, especially if you’re not used to it.”   

“Thanks for that wisdom,” Kurt snaps. The goggles suction against his face, trying to stay on with all their might. With a little more force, they come off with an unpleasant smacking noise. “Uuh,” Kurt says, tossing them on the seat of the four-wheeler. “Riding sure doesn’t leave you feeling fresh.”

“The river runs close to where we’re heading. We can wash up.” Kurt’s nose wrinkles. Dave reads the expression correctly. “Don’t worry. It’s not far.”

Kurt looks around, letting strength seep back into his body. They’re still in the forest. The trees aren’t at thick as places around the cabin, but there are still enough to provide homes for a variety of animals. The land rolls in all directions. There are no flat plains or grassy fields. Large gray and brown rock formations decorate the area. _I bet there are caves around here._ Curiosity makes Kurt stretch and step away from the ATV.

“I can hear the water,” he says. It’s not roaring, but the sound is completely noticeable.

Dave nods. “Yeah, it gets wide in places.” He motions to the huge boulders. “Glaciers used to be all through here. When they melted, they carved this out.” Kurt looks again, eyes wide. It is an impressive sight. Dave reaches past Kurt and unhooks the bag he packed. “Ready?”

“Lead the way.” Kurt rolls his shoulders as he follows Dave, trying to work out some of the kinks. They weave through trees and thick undergrowth. It’s warm, but Kurt’s glad he wore jeans and boots. The river appears to his right after a few minutes.

Kurt’s ready to stop immediately and clean himself up, but Dave shakes his head and says, “Not here.” Kurt sighs, but continues on. The ground becomes softer. The tread of his boots leaves v-shaped patterns in the dirt. After a minute, the dark brown ground begins to lighten into reddish clay. “Okay,” Dave says, slinging the bag off his shoulder onto a low branch of a nearby tree, “we can clean up.”

“Is this the special place?” Kurt asks. It’s pretty, the fast moving river and a thousand shades of green across the horizon, but there’s nowhere to really sit or do anything but look. 

“No,” Dave says. He squats near the river’s edge, careful not to press his knees into the moist ground. “But we’re not far.” He splashes water across his face and through his hair. Kurt moves forward and follows Dave’s actions. “It’s just past the boulders there.” Dave points to the three giant rocks ahead. One pushes into the water, curving the river towards them. The lighter gray rock behind it towers larger than a semi.

 _It’s as wide as one too,_ Kurt thinks. He’s heard of rocks so big, but never imaged he’d see anything like it.

Once the dirt is gone from his skin, Kurt walks forward and drags his palm along the edge of the third rock. It’s the one furthest from the river, about six or seven feet. Rough, tiny peaks scrape at his skin. It doesn’t hurt, the stone isn’t sharp enough for that, but the jagged texture reddens his hand. His eyes rake up the side of the stone. _It’s at least twice as tall as me._

When he looks up, Dave is staring at him. His irises are brown in the shade of the trees. They’re dark, and serious, and focused on Kurt. Kurt’s breath catches in his throat. He can’t stop the image of himself as the deer in the lion’s hunt. _Or the lioness in the lion’s hunt._

Heat never leaving his gaze, Dave comes forward. He moves slowly, as if doesn’t want to let Kurt disappear for a moment. He comes close enough that their arms brush. “Come on,” Dave murmurs.

They walk past the boulders. The land to their left slopes upwards, steep enough that Kurt would have trouble climbing to the top. Dave leads them in the opposite direction. The river is still to their right, but it slowly weaves away. There’s a square shaped boulder that juts from the hillside, sharp and low enough that Kurt takes care as he walks past.

Suddenly, Dave stops. Kurt almost steps on the back of his heels. “Close your eyes.”

“What?” Kurt asks.

Dave turns. “Close your eyes,” he repeats.

“Why? No.” Kurt says.

“It’s just ahead. I want to guide you in.” Dave shifts. His shirt slides along his back and chest, kissing his muscles. He holds out his hand.

“I’ll fall.” Kurt shakes his head and looks at the uneven ground.

Dave’s palm is sliding against his before he can blink.  “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.” He puts his other hand over Kurt’s eyes. The touch startles Kurt enough that he sucks in air and freezes. “Come on, close them,” Dave says, as if he can see behind his own hand.

Kurt closes his eyes. His lashes flutter against the warm skin of Dave’s hand. He feels Dave shudder beside him, and his thumb slips across Kurt’s forehead. The touch feels incredibly good, and for a brief second, Kurt allows the feeling to heat his insides. Then, he remembers where he is, who he’s here with, and why he’s stuck in this god-forsaken forest a million miles away from everyone he loves.  He takes a step back. For some reason his eyes remain closed.

A soft breeze rustles the leaves of the nearby trees. Dave’s hand falls from Kurt’s face, but the one around his wrist doesn’t let go. Slowly, Dave tugs on his arm and guides him forward. He tells Kurt to step down once, and when Kurt’s foot snags on a fallen tree branch, Dave’s arm darts out to wrap around his waist. They brush by another boulder, close enough that the rock snags his shirt.

The ground goes soft again; Kurt’s feet sink into the ground.  Dave stops. “Okay. We’re here.”

Kurt opens his eyes. “Oh.” He turns, taking in the sight. “It’s an amphitheater,” he says. And it is. There’s a narrow opening, maybe three or four feet, where he and Dave are standing, and rock walls that curve on either side. There’s one place in the far left where the rock juts out, overhanging, but mostly it’s smooth and flat. Straight ahead the wall breaks, dipping into what would be another exit, if not for the giant boulder blocking the path. It’s like the rock rolled down a hill and wedged itself between the curved arms of the stone walls.

Little streams of water trickle under that blocking boulder. It creates a very shallow creek that runs all the way to where Kurt and Dave are standing before drying out behind them. The water makes the ground wet, but the space near the curves walls are dry. Kurt twists and looks at the man beside him. “Dave,” he says. His voice stretches around them, snatched by the natural sound amplifier. He sounds awed and pleased. “This is beautiful.” _I wish I had a camera._

Dave’s cheeks redden. He ducks his head when he says, “I thought you would like it.” As if standing is uncomfortable, Dave presses forward, escaping the path of the water. He makes his way toward the rock overhang. “I found this place last year. It made me think of you.” Dave lifts his gaze and locks onto Kurt.

“I…” Kurt begins, but his words die when he can’t figure out what to say.

The corner of Dave’s mouth pulls upwards in his half-grin. “Let’s have a picnic.” He unzips the bag and tugs out a folded blue tarp. It crackles as he unfolds it and smooths it out on the ground. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Kurt comes forward. He kneels on the plastic covering and starts unpacking their lunch. Dave settles on the tarp beside him. They eat in a restful silence.

It’s easily the most pleasant moment Kurt’ had since this thing started. The curved walls protect them from the rays of the sun and the temperature is comfortably warm. Kurt can still hear the running river beyond the amphitheater. The meal is fresh and crisp. An apple makes a sweet and juicy desert. Stomach full and happy, Kurt leans back against the rock. “Thank you,” he says. His words echo across air.

Dave smiles, his grin big and happy, and says, “You’re welcome.” He stands, picking up the remains of their lunch, and throws it over the top of the wedged boulder. Wiping his hands down his pants, he turns to Kurt. His eyes are bright when he asks, “So are you going to give me a show?”

A burlesque scene pops into Kurt’s head, full of stripping and coy, lustful looks. “Excuse me?”  he chokes out.

Dave laughs. “Sing. Are you going to sing for me?”

Suddenly, Kurt’s risqué scene vanishes along with the remains of the peaceful relaxation of lunch. _Sing?_ he thinks. Before, before Dave and fear and being _kidnapped_ , singing brought Kurt joy. It gave him friends, connected him with people he would have never known without the gift of song. Singing gave him Mercedes, his best friend, and Finn. Singing gave his Dad Carole. And Kurt is damn good at it. No, he’s _great_ at it.

He hasn’t sung since Dave stole him.

“No,” Kurt says. His stomach hurts. He wraps his arms around his waist.

“Kurt,” Dave chides lightly, not catching on to the smaller boy’s darkening mood. “You’re in a God-created theater,” he holds his arms open, “with a captive audience.” He smiles and comes forward. “I know you’re good. Sing.”

 _I know you’re good._ The words leave Kurt wondering when Dave heard him sing. At home? At school? At a concert? Kurt’s not sure he wants to know. _How many times have you heard me sing? Did you come to Regionals last year? Clap in the audience when we finished?_ It wouldn’t surprise Kurt if Dave did. He wonders if it was hard coming to Lima, knowing the boy’s mother was there, lurking in the shadows with her vices.

Like magic, a song floats into Kurt’s mind, demanding and strong. He hasn’t sung in so long. The need sits at the back of his throat like a disease. _Just open your mouth and sing,_ his brain tells him. _It will make you feel better._ It always has.

Kurt closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He opens them again and exhales. His eyes rise to the far wall and he begins to sing. “Hate the way you look at me.” His voice is low, weak from underuse. “Like you can tell so much about my life.” His eyes flutter back to Dave. “My life assassinated so carelessly, so assured how sweet you twist the knife.”

Even though he’s only heard the song a few dozen times, mostly with Rachel Berry in his car forcing him to listen to the soundtracks of every musical known to man, Kurt remembers every lyric as if he wrote them himself. “Don’t you know I’m just a lot like you? I need all the Godly things you do. When you’re alone, at night, do you run and hide?”

Dave’s smile fades. Kurt curls his arms across his body. “Are you strong, inside? Are you full of pride?” His voice lowers, but the words echo anyway. “Or just petrified?”

“Hate the way you look at me, but I can see the terror in your eyes.” Kurt meets Dave’s gaze. “Your eyes. You pull the trigger, your smile is sweet. I don’t care if we never meet. That’s fine.”  

Kurt raises his hand and tucks his head. Sorrow, grief, and sympathy all run through Kurt’s chest, coating his song. “It’s alright. Don’t you know I’m just like you? I need all the Godly things that you do. When you’re alone, at night, do you run and hide? Are you strong inside? Are you full of pride?”

He raises his head, eyes sliding into Dave’s. His captor looks torn, as if he can’t decide if he wants to run, or cry, or maybe drag Kurt into a hug. Kurt sings. “Or just petrified? When you’re alone, at night, do you run and hide? Are you strong, inside? Are you full of pride?” Kurt whispers the next line. “Or just petrified?”

He pauses, taking a moment to breathe before finishing. “Take a look at your life. Take look in my eyes.” Kurt gets louder with every word. His voice plays against the rock walls, encompassing everything. “Take a look at your life. Take a look in my eyes. Take a look at your life.” Kurt curls his fingers into his fist, nails biting into his palm. “Are you petrified…”

His voice dies, soft and sad. Tears wet the corners of his eyes. He looks at Dave, tucking his lip behind his teeth. His whole chest hurts, aching as if Kurt ran all afternoon. Dave doesn’t look much better. His face is pale and drawn. His eyes are heavy, as if any second tears threaten to fall. Kurt wishes his dad was here, hell, even Finn or Carole, just someone who cared, to hold him tight and make the heaviness go away.

“Kurt,” Dave says then stops. He swallows and presses the heel of his hand under his eye, as if to wipe away tears. “God,” he says like a curse.

“That was _Petrified_ from the Broadway musical Taboo,” Kurt says, voice sounding as if it went through war. 

Chest heaving, Dave stumbles forward, walking like a baby, unsure and unsteady. Kurt wants to run, wants to sit, or hide away in the cabin. He doesn’t move. Dave’s hands slide around his shoulders. Their chests press together. Dave’s chin leans into Kurt’s forehead. He holds him in a locked embrace.

Dave hands run up and down Kurt’s back, soothing and comforting. He presses a kiss into Kurt’s hair.

“Dave,” Kurt says in a weak warning.

“I love you,” Dave says in a harsh whisper. “I love you,” he repeats, then his hands are cupping Kurt’s face and his lips meet Kurt’s. The words are an apology as well as a declaration.

Kurt knows he should pull away. He knows he should scream and cry and run, but Dave’s mouth feels warm and welcoming. Kurt’s felt so alone, and he’s never been kissed like this before. Dave kisses him as if Kurt means everything.

Dave moans, low and desperate. One of his hands slides away from Kurt’s face and moves to hold the back of his head. A spark of arousal curls around Kurt’s spine at the sound, and he moves his body closer to the warm firmness Dave provides.

“I love you,” Dave says again, sounding wrecked.

For the first time, Kurt really believes him.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

  
Dave’s hands feel large as they press delicately against Kurt’s face. He kisses Kurt’s lips, his cheeks, his jaw. The kisses are soft and quick. Occasionally, Dave sucks against his skin. Their jeans rub together, pressure points at Kurt’s right knee and left thigh. Dave’s teeth catch along Kurt’s bottom lip. They drag along the tender tissue. Lust spirals through Kurt’s head, making it difficult to think.  


  
Kurt clutches at Dave’s shirt, fingers twisting over and over again in the cloth. Dave’s hand slides around the back of Kurt’s neck, threading through his hair. His thigh slips between Kurt’s legs, wedging against Kurt’s hardening arousal. The pressure is unlike anything Kurt’s ever felt, and he can’t help but tear his mouth away and gasp for air.  


  
In a move that Kurt can barely process, Dave’s arms curls around Kurt’s body. He steps backward, bending as he goes, bringing Kurt with him. Kurt’s knees bump into the soft ground. Water seeps into his jeans, but before he can complain, Dave is rolling Kurt onto the picnic blanket. His elbow presses into the ground near Kurt’s head, acting as a brace for Dave’s body. Dave’s other hand skates over Kurt’s face, thumb brushing over Kurt’s forehead, his eyelashes, his lips.  


  
“I love you,” Dave rasps. His nose brushes against Kurt’s and his teeth nip softly along Kurt’s lips.  


  
Kurt can’t breathe. He feels oversensitive and tender, as if any movement might send him  into combustion. Dave’s face looms above him, and Kurt thinks,  _What am I doing?_  


  
Dave kisses him again. His tongue slips inside, sliding along Kurt’s. Kurt can’t stop his hips from thrusting upward. Dave groans. Kurt can feel the vibrations against his mouth, against his teeth. Kurt’s fingers scramble along the tarp. Plastic crinkles in Kurt’s ear as he desperately searches for purchase.   


  
Hot breath ghosts along his skin as Dave moves from his lips to Kurt’s neck. His mouth sucks into Kurt’s flesh. Heat flashes across his body; Kurt feels like he’s boiling from the inside out. He stutters out a fractured breath then gasps as Dave sucks even harder. No one has ever kissed him there. Kurt never knew that his neck is a direct line to his cock.     


  
He can’t stay still. Kurt squirms, body twisting the tarp beneath him and pressing into Dave’s body above. His brain clears for a moment when Dave lifts his head to gulp in air. Kurt can feel the rapid beat of Dave’s heart through their clothes, and he thinks,  _I need to stop._  


  
It’s easier said than done. Dave moves to the other side of Kurt’s neck, mouth going to work, sucking more bruises into Kurt’s skin. However, this time Kurt fights the pleasurable haze.  _It doesn’t matter if it feels good,_ he tells himself. Dave finds a spot near the base of Kurt’s neck, and Kurt can’t stop himself from arching his head backwards, displaying his throat like an offering.  


  
“God,” Dave says like prayer.  


  
Kurt looks up and sees Dave’s eyes flutter shut.  It gives Kurt a reprise. He flattens his palm against Dave’s chest-  _and Gaga, is it firm-_ and pushes upward. Dave’s Adam’s apple bobs above him, then the larger man lifts up and rolls to his back.  _Good,_ Kurt thinks.  _He understood my…_  Kurt’s thoughts die with a rush of surprise as Dave yanks Kurt on top of him.  


  
“Dave,” Kurt says breathlessly, attempting to get him to stop.    


  
Dave buries his fingers in Kurt’s hair and pulls him down for a kiss.  “I don’t mind,” Dave says when he breaks away for air. His voice is low and rough. “You can be on top.” He drags his thumb across Kurt’s swollen lips and stares into Kurt’s eyes.  


  
Kurt is frozen by the gaze. His heart pounds in his chest and his pulse roars in his ears. Kurt feels like he’s run a marathon. Dave’s hard body is beneath him, and with even the smallest of movements Kurt can feel how Dave is affected by their kisses. Despite the fact that this is further than Kurt’s gone with anyone else, it’s not Dave’s arousal that knocks Kurt out of his lustful haze. It’s the intense, single-focused look of love.  


 _  
What am I doing?    
_   
Kurt thinks again frantically.  _Dave is my kidnapper._

  
Something glitters on ground next to the tarp. The gleam blinds Kurt for a brief second, but a shape take form. _It’s a key._  


  
It’s not a key.  


  
It’s  _the_  key.  


  
The key to the ATV. Dave’s never let it out of his sight. Kurt’s breath catches in his chest. Dave’s fingers trail up Kurt’s spine, and he starts to tug Kurt back down. Kurt doesn’t think. He doesn’t plan. He just acts.  


  
He presses forward, knee digging into Dave’s leg. The man grunts, but Kurt doesn’t stop to look. He grabs the key. The edges poke into his skin, but Kurt pays no attention. He squeezes the metal harder, engraving the form into his palm, unwilling to let it escape. He hasn’t breathed since he reached forward, so he sucks in a mouthful of air.  


  
“Kurt?” Dave’s voice is close to his ear. Kurt eyes flicker to Dave’s face. He catches a confused look, but he doesn’t dwell.  


  
He’s up in an instant. Kurt’s boots sink into the ground. He twists, back foot catching on the tarp. It bunches up as he presses forward.  


  
“Kurt?” Dave asks again. He’s sitting up. His shirt clings to chest, sticking by sweat to his skin.  


  
Kurt runs. He splashes in the shallow water near the entrance of the amphitheater. His shoulder bangs into a boulder as tries to remember the way back to the four-wheeler. It hurts, but adrenaline pumps through his system, urging him forward. He thinks he hears Dave coming after him, but he doesn’t stop to look.  


  
He rounds another boulder, and suddenly, the dusty black metal of the four-wheeler appears. Kurt swings his legs over the seat. He fumbles with the key, pushing it inside the keyhole upside down before sliding it in correctly. It roars to life in a sputtering choke.  


  
Fingers grab the back of his shirt. “What the hell Kurt?”  


  
Kurt twists. He grabs Dave’s hand and wrenches it away with all his might. Unprepared for the action, Dave stumbles backwards. He grabs the tool box for support, but it tumbles off the vehicle and Dave trips. Kurt twists on the gas clutch.    


  
The four-wheeler jerks forward and Kurt almost flips over the front. He grabs the handles and hangs on for dear life. He doesn’t really know how to steer the thing, but he just aims the handlebars in the direction he wants to go and hopes for the best. The front left-hand corner of the ATV scraps past a tree trunk. Kurt shouts in fright as the wheel lifts up.  


  
“Kurt!” Dave yells again. He doesn’t sound confused anymore. He sounds furious.  


 _  
Don’t look back.    
_   
The though gives him strength and he makes the four-wheelers go fasters.

  
“You think you can make it out there?” Dave’s voice seems father away. “You’re going to die.” Then, voice small and low, “Kurt stop!” Kurt doesn’t stop. He weaves past a cluster of trees and veers to his right, away from the river and Dave.  


  
Kurt doesn’t know how long he rides before he finally stops to look back. His fingers ache from griping the handles too tight. His face stings from the bite of the wind and occasional smack from a tree branch. He didn’t have time to put on the goggles, and his eyelashes feel like they’re crusted with dirt. His slides off and shakes out his arms and legs. He aches as if he’s been in a triathlon.  


  
Everything is unfamiliar. Dave and the river are nowhere in sight.  Kurt can’t even hear the burbling water. He does hear chirping crickets and whistling birds. He’s at the edge of a row of trees, a small clearing lies before him. It stretches out a few hundred yards then rolls downwards into more greenery.  


  
It took about an hour to get from the cabin to Dave’s amphitheater, and he figures he rode at least twenty minutes. He has no idea where the cabin is from here, nor does he really care.  _There’s got to be something, someone out here._ Kurt glances at the gas gauge.  _A little more than three-fourths a tank._ He figures that mean at least another few hours of fuel.  


  
“Which way should I go?” Kurt asks aloud. His voice seems out of place in the depths of all this nature, but his words are eaten by the wind quickly enough anyways. He turns in place, looking for the best route to take.  _It doesn’t really matter, as long as I don’t go back._ Excitement, or maybe it’s hope, bubble in his chest.  


  
For the first time in what seems like a lifetime, Kurt feels like he might have a chance to escape.  _To go home. To see my dad._ Tears cloud his eyes, blurring his vision. Kurt doesn’t wipe them away. They feel good.  


  
Kurt stretches upwards again, and his muscles strain with the effort. He runs his fingers over the empty space on the back of the four-wheeler and wishes Dave hadn’t grabbed the tool box. He rubs his eyes with the front of his shirt, clearing away what dirt he can. Then Kurt settles back on the ATV and gets as comfortable as he can.  


  
He takes the path of least resistance. He rides along the edge of the trees, dipping in and out of the narrow layer of the forest, never venturing too far inside. After one frightening jump over a raised mound of dirt, Kurt slows down. Every so often he wipes his face on the inside of his shirt. Kurt can’t help but cringe when he imagines what he must look life.  _If I come across anyone they’re think I’m a deranged forester._ Still, he keeps his eyes open for any signs of human life.  


  
By the time the gas gauge reads half empty, clouds have rolled in overhead, thick and menacing in their clusters. They darken the sky and hide the sun.  _Damn-it,_ Kurt curses when the first drops hit his nose. He tries to push on, staying away from the low-lying areas in case of flooding, but when the rain starts to sting his skin like angry bees, Kurt weaves the ATV into the cover of the trees.  


  
It’s too difficult for him to navigate, so he cuts the engine. He leans forward, still sitting, and rests his arms and head against the dashboard. The rain can’t pound through the trees as quickly as the open ground, so even the he’s getting wet, it isn’t hurting.  _I’ll just have to wait it out._ It’s rained a good portion of the time Kurt’s been here, and he knows from experience that waiting it out could mean twenty minutes or three days.  


 _  
I can’t wait here three days.    
_   
Kurt’s belly is already grumbling and his throat is dry. He has to stand in place for a moment after he makes his way off the seat. His legs are stiff; his thighs spasm. He slips the key into his pocket, struggling to get it deep enough because wet denim isn’t easy to maneuver.

  
His boots sink into the mud as he steps away from the four-wheeler. It rises over his toes and the sides of his feet, coating the thick rubber work boots in a layer of mud. Despite the slick ground, and the way he presses into the ground an inch with every step he takes, Kurt can still move with relative ease.  


 _  
These will be the best boots you’ve ever owned.    
_   
Dave’s words float through his brain. It’s true. The boots are ugly as sin, but if Kurt had been wearing his favorite chucks or any of his boots with heels, he would be slipping and sinking into the wet ground, not to mention that his shoes would be ruined. 

 _  
Except,    
_   
Kurt thinks,  _they aren’t really mine are they?_ He yanks a low-lying tree limb out of his face. It cracks in half and splits off in his hand. Kurt throws it with all his might. It disappears into a throng of dark leaf shrubbery.  _Nothing here is mine. Not the boots or jeans I’m wearing or even this shirt._ Kurt tugs angrily at the hem of his shirt. It squelches as it tries valiantly to stay glued to his skin.

  
Kurt walks far enough that the ATV dips out of sight, and he pauses, suddenly thinking,  _I’d better not go too far. I might not be able to find my way back._ He tries to push down his anger, and forces himself to think. _Come up with plan, just don’t stalk around pissed off and make stupid decisions._  


 _  
Like stealing the key and running away from the only person who knows where the hell I am.    
_   
The thought slips inside Kurt’s brain, sounding sly and smug. Kurt slams the thought behind the same door he placed his anger, and chooses to ignore the way the frame bulges outwards.

  
“Focus,” he says to himself. He wipes his face again, though it really doesn’t do any good. His whole being is wet. He tucks his hair behind his ears and looks around for a rock. He finds a tennis ball sized one a few feet away and rolls it in his hand. It has a few good sharp points, which is exactly what Kurt wants. He steps up to the closest tree and drags one of the sharp peaks across the bark. It takes a few hard strikes, but soon a decent sized ‘X’ is easily visible. Kurt backtracks, marking the trees as he makes his way to the ATV. Then, rock firm in hand, he sets out again, finding food foremost in his mind.  


  
It’s slow moving. Besides the rain and dark skies making it difficult to see, Kurt really has no idea what he’s looking for.  He checks the bushes and trees for berries, but the only kind he finds are peppering the ground under the leaves of these tall, skinny trees. Kurt can see some of the tiny red berries high in the branches.  _I could probably climb up there._ The idea isn’t appealing, and the berries look like the poisonous kind that grow on the trees in Lima. He keeps moving.  


  
He finds nothing. Oh, he’s sure that something around here is edible, but with no working knowledge of what will make him sick, Kurt decides that nothing is better than deadly. Sighing, he reaches out his hand to the closest tree and makes another ‘X.’  _I’ll head back and try to take a nap. Maybe when I wake up it’ll have stopped raining._  


  
It’s not the best plan in the world. Kurt’s stomach is still growling, but he’s been hungrier. His marks on the trees work like a charm, and Kurt just follows them back until the four-wheeler comes back in sight. Kurt sets his rock on the seat of the vehicle, up and out of harm’s way, and  settles on the ground against the trunk of a wide tree. He grimaces at the immediate wetness that soaks his jeans.  


 _  
Don’t focus on the fact you’re sitting in mud,    
_   
Kurt tells himself. He tucks his fingers under his arms and props his feet on the back wheel of the four-wheeler. He tucks his chin into his chest so the rainfall hits the top of his head instead of his face. Closing his eyes, Kurt imagines what his homecoming will be like.

 _  
Dad will cry.    
_   
Kurt can almost feel his father’s arms wrapped his body, holding him tight, protecting Kurt from the world. He can’t wait for the smell of car grease and gasoline to clog his nose again as he presses his face into his dad’s shoulder.  _And Finn will be awkward and fumble everything he says._ He pictures his step-brother hovering in the doorway of Kurt’s bedroom, glass of warm milk in his hands and concern etched into his face.

  
Thoughts of his family keep Kurt company for the next few hours. He stands and stretches a few times, and walks around his tree but he doesn’t go far. He just waits out the rain, trying to keep his mind occupied and away from thoughts of his empty stomach and Dave. Eventually, the sky begins to lighten. The downpour morphs into a light drizzle. Then the only water coming down is the pitter-pattering of remaining raindrops sliding off the leaves.    


  
He waits a bit longer, making sure the sunshine isn’t just a minor reprieve. The clouds are gone, though. The sun is on its way to setting, but it’s still out and proud. Kurt tosses his rock back to the ground, no longer needed, and swings his leg over the seat of the ATV. His mud-caked jeans feel gross against the plastic cover. Kurt can’t wait to be someplace dry and clean.  


  
Kurt tugs the key from his pocket and sticks it in the ignition. He turns it to the right, the engine makes a rattling cough, then chokes out. “No,” Kurt growls. He turns the key again. The engine coughs a little longer, sounding like an old man hacking out his lungs. Anxiety presses against Kurt’s chest. He twists the key, kills the engine then takes a deep breath. “Please, please work,” Kurt prays. He shakes the little piece of metal, as if that gives it some special magic, then slides it back inside.  


  
The engine gives three unsettling coughs, then roars to life. “Yes!” Kurt shouts. He laughs at his own foolishness before twisting the handlebars to the right and giving the thing a little bit of gas. It lurches forward, wheels spinning in the mud, before heading where Kurt steers.  


 _  
Thank Gaga,    
_   
Kurt thinks then laughs again. It’s been awhile since he’s thought that phrase.

  
With the sun out again, Kurt’s wet clothes soon become stiff as they dry. The mud becomes dirt and flies off of his body in clumps as he drives. The going is even slower than before, because Kurt is careful to look for sink holes of mud and standing water. He even has to stop the ATV a few times and test the ground with his feet, making sure the vehicle wouldn’t get stuck.  


  
Which is why, when the front wheels slam into a soft patch of muddy ground and the four-wheeler jerks to a forceful stop, Kurt’s thrown over the front with breath-stealing surprise. He doesn’t even have a chance to scream before his shoulder hits the ground. His back follows with a hard smack. Pain lances through his body, but more worryingly, Kurt’s lungs seem to collapse.  


  
He can’t breathe. His fingers spasms in the mud, desperate for something to hold on to, for someone to lift him up and give him air. There’s no one. Kurt trembles on the ground, four-wheeler rumbling near his head. Black spots dance before his eyes, and Kurt closes them, trying to concentrate and breathe.  


  
Then, the iron grip around his lungs eases, and air fills him up again. Kurt takes a few deep breaths, eyes still shut, and lays in the mud trying to calm his racing heart. Eventually, he pushes himself up, sitting. He touches the back of his neck lightly and feels what he can of his shoulder and back. It hurts, but nothing more than a deep ache.  _I’ll have some spectacular bruising._ Still, Kurt feels lucky to be alive.  _I could have broken my neck._  


  
Tentatively, he grabs the front of the ATV and hauls himself to his feet. The motion has his side throbbing, and his stomach rolls.  _Riding is going to be fun._ Kurt can already imagine the vibrations and jumps of the four-wheeler jarring his body. He swallows, closes his eyes, and takes another deep breath.  


 _  
Focus on the positive,   
_   
 Kurt thinks. He walks around the ATV, looking at where the wheels hit.  _I’m not dead._ The left hand wheel is a few inches deep in mud. “I’m away from my kidnapper,” Kurt says loudly. “I’m free. I’ve escaped.” The right side isn’t as bad, but it’s still slick with mud. Kurt grabs the handlebars and heaves. Pain spikes through his body. He lets go immediately and dips forward, hands on his knees, waiting it out, breathing.

 _  
It wouldn’t hurt to have Dave here now.    
_   
The thought slips in before Kurt can stop it. Once it’s there he can’t let it go.  _What,_ he defends,  _it’s true. Dave could lift that thing with no trouble._ Even without an aching body, Kurt would struggle to lift the ATV from the mud. He imagines Dave lifting the wheels, muscles bulging in his wife-beater.

  
Anger floods Kurt’s chest.  _Stop it,_ he tells himself.  _Stop thinking about Dave._ Straightening, he grits his teeth and swings his leg over the seat of the ATV. “Can’t pull it out, then I’m going to have to ride it out.”  


  
The four-wheeler is still running, wasting gas, so Kurt doesn’t have to turn it back on.  _At least it hasn’t stalled._ Broken parts he can’t fix, a stuck wheel he has a better chance with. He wiggles the wheels, hoping to nudge them from the mud. He gives a little gas. The wheels spin, and the ATV tries valiantly to go forward. Mud splatters outwards as if sprayed from a hose.  


  
“Damn-it!” Kurt growls. He twists the handle further. The wheels spin harder, but the four-wheeler stays in place. Kurt slams his hand against the dash in frustration. He kills the engine and gets off to look at the wheels.  


  
 “I need some kind of leverage,” Kurt says. He remembers the time he got stuck in the ice and his dad had stuck a towel under his wheel to give it some friction. He runs his hand through his hair and glances around.  _Maybe some leaves?_  


  
Kurt walks to the nearby trees and picks up the few leaves that have fallen to the ground. There are a few low branches and he strips those bare. Using his shirt as a basket, Kurt gathers an armful of leaves. The short walk back has him sweating; the heat of the day and the pain of his back work together to make the littlest exercise exhausting.  


  
He tucks the leaves around the left wheel, then goes back for another shirtful for the right. Then, for good measure, he goes back once more and doles out the rest evenly. “Please work, please work,” he prays under his breath.  


  
Sliding back over the seat, Kurt grips the handles and tries again. The wheels spin, leaves crunch, but Kurt doesn’t move. He guns it, wrenches the gas handle as hard as he can and lifts his bottom from the seat and leans forward.  


  
The ATV squeals like a dying cat, then, in a heartbeat, the four-wheeler goes silent.  _Oh, shit._ Kurt releases the handle and turns the key. There’s nothing. No coughing, no lights, nothing. “No, no, no.” He slams his fist into the dashboard, hoping for miraculous results. He tries the key again. The only sounds are the whooshing of his breath and the calls of the local birds and insects.  


  
Kurt hangs his head and squeezes his eyes shut, holding back tears.  _What have I done to deserve this?_ Spending too much money doesn’t seem like such a crime.  _I must have been a murderer in my past life._ His back and shoulder throb. Kurt’s lips curl up in a sad, mocking smile.  _My own body is kicking me when I’m down._  


 _  
No.    
_   
Kurt raises his head. “I’ve got to keep going. “  _If I want to see Dad again I can’t give up._ He slides off the seat. “If I can’t ride, then I’ll walk.”

  
So he walks. He walks until the ache of his back and shoulder are matched by an ache in his feet and calves. He walks until the sky turns pink and orange, and then the stars start to shine. He walks until the rumbling in his stomach turns into a roar and a hammer pounds against his temple. Then, tired, he settles against the trunk of a wide tree, curls his knees to his chest and falls asleep.  



	15. Chapter 15

**  
Part 15   
**

When Kurt wakes, his body throws a fit. His shoulder and back throb from where he slammed into the ground off the ATV, and his legs ache as if he went through a Sue Sylvester training session - two sessions. It takes him a minute to get to his feet, and once he does, Kurt has to stand in place to let his muscles stop screaming. After a few drawn out stretches, some of the tension leaves. His hunger remains.

Kurt rubs a hand over his stomach. _I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this hungry before._ He can feel the need for food through his whole middle and in the pounding of his head. _If I don’t eat soon I’m going to have a migraine._ That’s a fun hand-me-down from his mom. Not enough to eat means blinding headaches.

“At least it isn’t raining,” Kurt says aloud, just to hear something. The sun is out, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. It’s also blazing hot, Kurt’s already sweating. He raises his hands, interlocks his fingers, and does one more stretch for good measure. “Guess I’d better start.”

He still has no idea where he’s going. He figures he traveled for at least two hours on the ATV yesterday. Then he must have walked a good five or six miles. _Maybe I should try to find the river again._ Thirst scratches at his throat. The idea of a cool mouthful of water seems just as appealing as a blueberry bagel. _What I wouldn’t give for a venti mocha Frappuccino and a cranberry-lemon scone from Lima Bean._ If Kurt closes his eyes and imagines, he can almost taste the whip cream and chocolate of the iced drink.

He sets off. The going takes longer than the previous day. Kurt’s feet hurt despite his boots, and paying attention to his surroundings slows him down twofold. He tries to appreciate the trees and blooming flowers, but as hunger pains spike through his body, any admiration he could feel for the outdoors is stabbed out of him.

When morning slides into afternoon- the sun is high in the sky- Kurt starts to feel light headed. He tucks under the shade of a large trunk tree and lies down in the spotty grass. He doesn’t care that ants are probably crawling in his hair or that his tender skin is touching the rough roots of the tree. _It takes at least a week to die of hunger_ , Kurt reminds himself. At least, that’s what he read in Cosmo. _But only a few days before your body shrivels up from thirst._ Kurt cups his throat. _It hasn’t even been a day since I ran from Dave. I can’t be dying already._ The thought doesn’t bring any comfort, because, what if he _is_ dying?

 _If I die out here no one will ever find my body._ Kurt squeezes his eyes shut and thinks, _Don’t cry. Don’t cry._ He can’t afford to waste the water. _At least if I had stayed with Dave he’d take care of me._ The thought settles into his stomach like lead.

Kurt lies there, curled in a loose ball, until the sun is further west than east, too tired to do anything else. He dozes in and out, mind unrestful. His thoughts swirl from Dave to Burt. Kurt thinks about school, about glee club and Mr. Schuester.  _I’m not going to see them again._  It’s a startling realization.

He pushes himself up, but the sun is still too bright and his head hurts too much to go anywhere. Kurt presses his forehead into his knees and locks his arms around his legs to keep himself upright. The denim of his jeans is stiff with mud. He can smell his own body. It isn’t pleasant.

 _Here’s what you’re going to do,_ Kurt says to himself. _You’re going to get up and find something to eat. Sitting here whining isn’t going to help any._ He swallows down what little bit of moisture is left in his mouth to sooth his throat then forces his body to stand.

The world rocks for a moment and Kurt’s empty stomach rolls. He grabs the nearby tree for balance and sucks in air.   _Focus on something else._ Kurt’s had to ignore many things in his life- bullies, sideways glances at his clothing, slurs from complete strangers- this should be no different.

He presses his palm harder into the tree. The bark is rough and puckered. He drags his thumb over one raised piece, letting the coarse texture take his attention. A soft breeze kisses his skin. Kurt turns his face into the wind. His stomach calms, even if his head still throbs. _Okay, open your eyes and get busy._

Kurt sucks in another breath and opens his eyes. A dragonfly darts past his head. _Dragonflies lives near ponds, lakes, marshes and other types of water._ “Thank you Mrs. Goldstein!” Kurt praises his fourth grade teacher. _Guess that research paper did come in handy after all._ Everyone in the class had to choose an insect to research. Kurt had vetoed the project once Emily Bristle had picked butterflies before him.  Mrs. Goldstein told him to pick another bug or fail.

Kurt chases after the dragonfly. He stumbles over the root of a tree and loses track of it for a moment, but someone is watching out for him because it sparkles orange in his vision seconds later.  Thorns snag and prick at his jeans as he thuds through thigh-high shrubs. Kurt ignores the jabs.

Excitement pumps adrenaline through his chest, and Kurt’s so focused on the dragonfly that his boot stomps into the stream before he sees the water.  Kurt laughs. He splashes at water with his other foot then drops to his knees. He cups the water in his palms, uncaring that they’re dirty. The need to drink outweighs everything else.

The water is warm, but it feels amazing sliding down his throat. Kurt drinks until his stomach feels bloated. He rocks backwards and flops on the pebbled banks of the creek. _Creek,_ Kurt thinks, for that’s what it is. He can see it for a few hundred feet to his right before it disappears around a bend. The left hand side widens about a yard from Kurt’s body, then narrows again shortly after before vanishing behind a cluster of trees.

There isn’t a spot that Kurt can see that is wider than the length of his body.  The space before him is shallow; it probably wouldn’t come up to his knees if he stood in the middle. _I wonder if this flows into the bigger river that I saw when I first came here._ Kurt figures it does. All the creeks and rivers around here probably flow into each other and eventually into one of the Great Lakes.  

A school of tiny fish swims by the heel of Kurt’s boot. _I wonder if I could catch those._ The idea quickly loses merit. _What would I do with it? I don’t know how to start a fire, and I have no idea how to clean it._ Kurt sits forward splashes some water on his face and the back of his neck. The fish scatter.  Another dragonfly flies past followed by a slightly larger one. They skim the edge of the water before locking together and flying away.

A pang of longing hits Kurt hard. _Even the bugs are happy._  Kurt thinks about the fantasy life he once dreamt of. _I’d meet Prince Charming. He’d be tall, dark and handsome._ Dave’s face flashes, unwelcomed. _He’d buy me a coffee. I’d flutter my eyelashes at him, and we’d fall in love. He’d be rich, and we would move to New York, get married and live happily ever after._

Depression washes over Kurt. He takes another mouthful of water, trying to swallow it down. It doesn’t work. Sadness replaces all the fear and anger and worry. _Even if I somehow make it home alive, I’m never going to live my perfect life._ People already treated Kurt as if he was strange. After this, well, Kurt can imagine how people will look at him.

He turns over and crawls away from the creek, stopping once the pebbled stones smooth back into dirt and grass. He lays on his side, head pillowed on his arm. Exhaustion overwhelms Kurt. _I shouldn’t be so tired._ It’s only been twenty minutes tops since he chased after the dragonfly. Then, he thinks, _Why does it matter If I sleep again?_

He closes his eyes.  A single tear escapes. It slides across his nose and down his cheek.

 _What does anything matter anymore?_

###

 

Kurt wakes with the desperate urge to pee.  He gets to his feet, stumbling with the quick movement. He walks a few feet away, unzips and relieves himself. _I never thought peeing outside would feel so good._ He finishes then looks around with horror when he realizes he has no soap to wash his hands.   _Uh, gross._ He scrubs with water.

When he’s deemed his hands as clean as they’re going to get in the circumstance, he looks up at the sky. _I’ve been asleep for a few hours at least._ The sun is already going down. Thin, wispy clouds hover above. A drop of sweat rolls down Kurt’s forehead, and he wipes it away with his sleeve. _Ouch._ He tentatively touches his face. The pressure hurts, and Kurt glances at the water. The distorted reflection of his face shows reddened skin.

Kurt chokes out a humorless laugh. “Just what I need on top of a bruised back and tired muscles- sunburn!”  A strange rumbling sound cuts through Kurt’s rant. He frowns and creeps towards the trees, away from the creek. _Please don’t be a moose._ He sure as hell doesn’t want to go through _that_ horror again. 

Kurt doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. There are the trees, thick and thin, tall and short, and every size in-between. There’s never a shortage of trees out here in _Canada_. Kurt doesn’t see any animals either. He’s passed by the occasional squirrel, and the even rarer rabbit, but the bigger animals stay out of sight.

He hears it again. The sound is closer than before. _It sounds like an engine._ A nervous ball of excitement lumps in his throat. He wants to jump out and scream at the top of his lungs, but caution overrides him eagerness. He looks around for a stick. There’s a log a few feet away, but it looks too heavy for Kurt to use as a weapon. A couple of twigs lie by his feet, knocked from the tree by the wind or hurrying animals. _I could give someone a splinter,_ Kurt thinks wryly.

There’s a baseball sized rock about a foot away. It’s got a bit of moss growing on the side no sharp edges, but Kurt picks it up anyway. _It’ll be more useful than a toothpick._ As he straightens, he notices that the rumbling has stopped. He catches something white out of the corner of his eye and turns.

The rock tumbles from his fingers. _Oh my god._ His brain blanks.

He takes a step back.

Dave takes a step forward.

Kurt freezes. Ice-like fear forms chunks in his veins, burning throughout his body. Dave takes another step forward. His eyes are glued to Kurt. Kurt can’t move. His heart pounds in his chest, and for a moment the fear is so strong that Kurt feels like he’s having a heart attack.

Then Dave drops his eyes, licks his lips, brings his gaze back to Kurt and says, “You’re sunburned.”

Too shaky to speak, Kurt just nods. Dave takes another step closer. There’s a duffle bag slung over his back, black strap diagonal across his chest. A short sleeved t-shirt clings to his skin, and thick jeans cover Dave’s legs. His black ATV goggles rest on top of his head, and the fine layer of dust that covers Dave’s face is streaked clean from beads of sweat.

Dave swings the bag to his front. He moves even closer, a yard between them, and says, “Are you hungry? I bet you haven’t eaten.”

Kurt feels like screaming. _Or crying._ He nods. He is hungry. Dave unzips the main flap and takes out a cloth-wrapped chunk of bread. He holds it out for Kurt to take. Trembling, afraid this nice act is just that, an act, Kurt takes the bread.

Dave just watches. Kurt tears off a piece with his teeth. It’s stale and hard to chew, but his stomach is desperate for nutrition.  Kurt eats the whole chunk in a minute. Dave pulls out a water bottle and offers it to Kurt.

Kurt’s gulped half the bottle when Dave says, “I have pain killers too, if you want.” Kurt accepts the two Dave holds out and swallows them down with his next mouthful of water.

“Thanks,” Kurt whispers when his mouth his clear.

Dave nods. His lips are pressed in a tight line, and his jaw is stiff. He extends his hand again, holding a hunk of pale cheese this time.  When Kurt finishes eating that, he tentatively asks, “Are you mad?”

The sound of Dave’s inhale echoes across Kurt’s ears.  Mouth still tight, he says, “I am, but more at myself than you.”

Surprise flutters through Kurt’s chest, loosening some of his earlier fear.  “What?”

Dave stares at the ground. “I knew you weren’t ready for more than kissing. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.”

Shock sputters from Kurt’s lips. He speaks before he thinks, “But I ran away! We were making out and I ran! And I stole the ATV!” Dave’s shoulders go taut, and Kurt thinks, _Oh shit, I shouldn’t have reminded him._

But Dave surprises him again. “You panicked and did what you thought was necessary.”  Kurt looks at the bigger man incredulously. Dave catches the look and adds, “I’ve had almost two days to calm down and think this through.”

Kurt doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.  He bobs his head, accepting Dave’s answer. Dave motions to the space behind him with a nod of his head. “Let’s go home and you can take a bath.”

A bath sounds wonderful and Kurt sways forward before he can think.  A thought stops him in his place. “How did you find me?” he asks softly.

Dave stops moving forward and turns back to Kurt. “I found the four-wheeler yesterday a few hours after you ran from the amphitheater. The ignition switch had gotten too much dirt in it and the key wouldn’t turn all the way.”

 _That’s all that was wrong with it?_ Shame-tinted anger floods through Kurt’s body. _I could have easily fixed that._

“I just cleaned it out. I looked for you, but the rain had washed away your footprints. So, I took the ATV home and filled up the tank and went out to look for you again.” Dave gives him one of his half-smiles. “I was actually heading back when I saw your tracks.”

 _Tracks._ Kurt’s mouth falls open.

“We’re actually only about a half a mile from the cabin. You probably would have run into it if you had kept walking.”

 _Shit._ A burning lump nestles under Kurt’s heart. _I never had a chance of escaping._ He bites his lip and focuses on the fleeting pain.

They pass the shrubbery that lies near the creek and Kurt sees the ATV. It’s still filthy, obviously not cleaned since Kurt’s ride.  The toolbox is back in its place, latched to the back with bungee cords. Dave settles onto the seat, then pulls out the second pair of goggles from the toolbox. He hands them to Kurt. Kurt slips them on and silently slides on behind Dave. The engine rumbles to life and Kurt wraps his arms around Dave’s middle.

The whole ride is uncomfortable, and the second Dave parks the four-wheeler next to the tin shed, Kurt hops off. He doesn’t wait for Dave.  Kurt has no idea what to say to the other man, no idea how to act. So instead of dealing, he heads for the cabin. Once instead he goes straight for the bathroom. He shuts the door behind him. __

Tears pool in his eyes, and this time, he lets them fall. He rests against the door for a moment. He hears Dave’s heavy footsteps against the wooden floor outside. Kurt walks to the tub and turns on the water with trembling hands. It sputters out its normal rusty color before flushing clear.

Kurt disrobes. His dirty clothes fall to the floor in a dusty pile.  He doesn’t wait for the tub to fill or for the water to warm. He shivers as the water covers his feet. He turns the handle for the hot water further to right then sits.

Dirt swirls from Kurt’s body. He grabs the bar of soap and begins to scrub. His sunburned face and arms hurt with each swipe of the soap, but Kurt doesn’t care. He scours his skin until the water is brown, then he turns off the water, drains the bathtub and fills it again.

This time he works on his hair. He dunks his head underwater, and for second his eyes are open he can see the caked mud float away. _Just like my life._ He closes his eyes and works the soap through his hair.  It takes four fills of the tub for Kurt to feel clean. The hot water is long gone, but the air is warm enough that the parts of Kurt’s body outside of the water don’t freeze.  

He toes by his dirty clothes, careful to stay away with his newly cleaned feet. It’s only when he looks in the mirror, catching sight of his pink face and wrinkled fingers, that realizes he has no towel.  Cautiously, Kurt cracks open the door and says, “Dave, can you get me a towel please.”

Kurt hears one of the kitchen chairs scrape across the floor. “Uh, yeah,” Dave says back.  He comes down the hall, and Kurt shuts the door.  A few seconds later, there’s a knock and Dave says, “I’m leaving it outside the door.” Kurt waits until Dave walks away before reaching out and snagging the blue towel.

Dave isn’t in the hall as Kurt creeps out, making his way back to room.  A lantern burns on the nightstand. _Dave must have lit it while I was in the bath._ The sun has set and the little window in Kurt’s room is propped open to let in the cooler night air. 

Feeling numb, Kurt dresses. He chooses a pair of soft cotton pants and a matching maroon top. The fabric feels light against his skin. Feeling needy, Kurt opens the top draw of his dresser and pulls out the hundred dollar Nordstrom’s scarf. Its shines like silk between his fingers, despite its synthetic nature. Kurt brings it to his face and rubs it against his cheek. 

 _Why shouldn’t I wear it?_ He lets the length run through his fingers again, then he wraps it around his neck. He glances at the mirror above the dresser. _I look silly._ The plain pajamas don’t deserve such an amazing scarf. Kurt doesn’t take it off.

Taking a deep breath, Kurt opens his door. Dave is sitting at the kitchen table. A half-eaten bowl of vegetables sits before him.  “You can have the rest,” Dave says as Kurt takes the adjacent chair. Kurt’s still hungry, so he slides the bowl in front of him and begins to eat.

His fingers are in his mouth when Dave says, “None of this is working out like I expected.”

Dave sounds so generally confused, so confounded, that Kurt’s cynicism spills out. “What in the world did you expect Dave? That you would kidnap me and we would live happily ever after in the middle of _nowhere_?”

“No,” Dave says defensively. He sucks in air through his nose. “I knew that there would be an adjustment period for you, but, I didn’t it think it would be this _hard_ for you.” Kurt flattens his palm against the tabletop. “I thought you would fall in love with this place the way that I have.” The words, _fall in love with me,_ weren’t said, but they were clear. 

“Dave,” Kurt says slowly, because suddenly, he feels that this conversation might be going somewhere. “How can I fall in love with a place that takes me away from my friends and family?” Dave’s thumbs trace the edge of the table. “I miss them.”

There are tears in Dave’s eyes when he looks up. “Kurt,” he says hoarsely. “I know. I’m not blind. I can see how you feel. You ran away when we were kissing. I’m not stupid.”

A pocket of hope opens in Kurt’s chest. “You could take me home.” Kurt reaches out his hand and touches Dave’s knuckles. “You could still come visit me in Lima.”

Dave jerks his head from side to side. “No. I can’t go back there. “ He drags his hand under his nose.  His gazes lifts and meets Kurt’s. He’s quite for a moment, and then softly, he says, “What if you try to make it work for another six months and if you still want to go home I’ll take you, no questions asked.”

The hope explodes. Kurt straightens. “Sixth months is too long Dave. How about one?”

“No,” Dave says. “One isn’t enough. You’ve already been here a month, and it wasn’t enough.” He tilts his head. “Three.”

“Six weeks,” Kurt counteroffers.  _Six weeks and I’ll only have missed the first few weeks of school. I won’t have to make up the year._

Dave gives in. “Okay, six weeks.” A smile blossoms over Kurt’s face. “But you have to actually try.”

“I will,” Kurt says. “I promise.”  

 Dave doesn’t look happy, but as his shoulders presses against the back of his chair, Kurt knows that his captor is going to pull out all the stops to make Kurt fall in love. Kurt vows to stay strong. _There’s nothing in this world that will stop me from going home._

Abruptly, Dave stands. “You must still be hungry. I’ll make you dinner.”

“Okay,” Kurt says softly. After all, he promises to try.

###

Kurt throws a fistful of corn feed to the chickens. “Oh Helen, I missed your pleasant clucking.”

“They missed you too,” Dave says as he puts the roll of mesh back into the shed near the chicken coop. “It’s been three days since you fed them.”

“I doubt they missed me,” Kurt replies. “They don’t care who feeds them, as long as they get their food.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Dave’s voice comes out a bit muffled from inside the shed.  He steps out and says, “Here, hand me the back of feed and I’ll put it away.” Kurt hands it over. Dave brushes his hands against his jeans when he comes out. “There are some plump looking tomatoes reading for picking.” He runs a hand through his hair and some sneaky pieces of chicken feed catch in his hair.

Kurt laughs and reaches forward to brush them out. His hand is in Dave’s hair when he realizes what he’s doing. _Oh._ He drops back, but the deed is already done. Dave is staring at him, gaze fond and loving. To cover, Kurt says, “I know a recipe for a delicious tomato-onion salad. Do we have any olive oil in the house?”

Dave smiles. “Yeah, there should be some left in the tin. If not I have some out in the shed.”

Kurt swallows down his discomfort and nods. “Great,” he says weakly. “I’ll go pick the tomatoes if you want.”

“Okay. I’ll finish up here.”  Dave steps into the kitchen coop and begins to pick up the girls’ eggs.

Kurt heads for the enclosed garden and scans the rows for the ripe tomatoes. He sees them about halfway down. He reaches down for the first one then jumps back as something stings his hand. “Ouch,” he cries.  He holds up his hand and sees two small puncture marks. Blood wells.   _What?_ He looks down and sees the black and tan patterned body of a snake. He hears the rattle. Kurt steps back. The snake rears up, tail shaking fast. Before Kurt can move, it strikes again. Its teeth are in and out of Kurt’s leg, through his jeans, in a second.

“Dave!” Kurt shouts. “Dave!”

Suddenly, the rattlesnake darts away. Kurt stares at his hand. His leg throbs.  Dave comes up behind Kurt, jogging. “What wrong?” he asks.

“I…” Kurt starts. A wave of heat blackens his vision. _It’s not that bad. I’m just overreacting._ Kurt opens his eyes and Dave’s face fuzzes in his vision. He holds up his hand for Dave to see.

“Kurt,” Dave says urgently. “This is a snake bite.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says. It’s hard to talk. “It bit me twice. On the leg, too.” His leg gives out. Dave grabs him and eases him to the ground. Dave yanks up his pant leg and stares at the bite.

“Fuck,” Dave curses. “Did you see it? Kurt,” Dave yells, “what did the snake look like?”

 _Whoa, it’s hot._ “Black and tan,” Kurt says. “It was a rattlesnake.”

Dave’s face goes white. Fear floods Kurt’s stomach and grabs onto Dave’s arms. “Is that bad? Can’t you just suck it out?” Kurt’s pretty sure he saw that in a movie.

Dave nods, head jerking like a bobble-head. He yanks off his shirt and tears it in half. He wraps Kurt’s hand. “It’s too tight,” Kurt complains. Dave ignores him and ties the remaining strip of cloth around Kurt’s leg. He gets to one knee, tucks his arms under Kurt’s neck and legs, and lifts Kurt into his arms.

Kurt’s head rolls and his vision spots again. He closes his eyes because the ground rushes below him as Dave jogs to the four-wheeler. Dave sets Kurt before him, one arm clutched around Kurt’s stomach while the other arm guides the ATV.  Kurt throws up when Dave swings him off the seat and takes Kurt into the cabin.

“You’re going to be fine,” Dave says.

There’s something worrisome in his tone. “Dave,” Kurt pleas, “am I going to die?”

“No.” Dave’s gone for a while as Kurt sweats into his bed sheets. He squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, Dave is pricking his arm with a needle.  Dave must think he’s asleep because Kurt can hear him praying softly. “Please, please don’t let this happen again.” Before Kurt can worry, he’s overtaken by the heat once more.

Dave forces him awake sometime later. Ice cold water splashes against his face. “No. Stop.” Kurt begs. “I’m burning,” he says. Dave sobs above him. Kurt thinks, _Why is he crying?_

“Hold on,” he hears Dave say. Suddenly, he’s in Dave’s arms. He shivers so hard that his teeth chatter.  The cabin flashes before Kurt’s eyes, and then they're outside. It’s dark. Dave sets him on the four-wheeler again. “Hold on Kurt. I’m going to get you help.”

 _Help?_ Kurt thinks. The ATV roars beneath him. The headlights brighten the world. Kurt catches a glimpse of his hand. It’s grotesque and swollen, twice it’s normal size. Black lines scatter out from two puncture marks.  His stomach clenches at the sight. _I’m going to die._

“You’re not going to die,” Dave says unconvincingly, and Kurt realizes he’s said his thought aloud. Dave holds him close and guides the four-wheeler away from the cabin. He says something else, but Kurt can’t hear him. They turn, passing the side of the cabin. Another wave of fire burns Kurt’s thoughts.

Then Kurt’s thoughts don’t matter. He takes a breath, and the world shatters away.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

** Part 16 **

The steady beeping of the heart-rate monitor is getting on Kurt’s nerves. The part clipped to his finger is uncomfortable; Kurt’s already accidently yanked it off three times this morning. A nurse passes by his open door in a flash of turquoise, but the man doesn’t stop. _Greg’s the nighttime nurse. Jeni is the day nurse,_ Kurt reminds himself. Her name is written on the whiteboard inside Kurt’s room right under the times she’s supposed to check in.

“Hey,” Finn’s voice jerks Kurt’s attention away from the door. He looks to where his step-brother is sitting in the chair against the windowsill, “can I turn on the tv?” 

Kurt glances at the small screen hanging across from his narrow bed. _No,_ Kurt thinks. _I don’t want the tv on. Their voices sound fake._ “Sure,” he says aloud. Finn’s eyes dart from Kurt to the television. Kurt can see his jaw tick, but then the expression smooths out and Finn’s head bobs as he reaches to the small stand at Kurt’s beside. Finn snatches the remote and flips on the television. He flies through the channels then finally settles on a re-run of “Two and Half Men.”

 _Finn doesn’t know what to say to me._ Not that Kurt blames him. Kurt doesn’t know what to say himself.

The air-conditioning whines as it kicks on. Kurt shivers and says, “Could you pass me the blanket on the chair?”

Finn sits up and frowns. “Should I get the doctor? It’s like a hundred degrees outside.”

Kurt shakes his head. “I’m just cold Finn. I’m not dying.” _It’s been a while since I’ve sat in air-conditioning._ Kurt flashes on all the nights he spent at the cabin sweating late into the night, wishing desperately for the coolness of manufactured air. He curls his legs to his chest and rests his chin overtop his knees. He reaches forward to take the blanket from Finn’s hesitant hands.

“Do you want me to go get Burt from the cafeteria?”

 _Yes._ His dad hasn’t left his side for the past day and half. Carole and Finn had brought the man all his meals. Looking over and seeing his dad sitting a few feet away has been the only thing to keep Kurt from shaking apart. “No, he’ll be back soon.”

Finn looks like he doesn’t believe Kurt, so Kurt adds. “I’m _fine_.” Still frowning, Finn leans back in his chair and slowly turns his attention back to the television.

Kurt drapes the blanket over his shoulders and closes his eyes, shutting out his step-brother and the sterile white room. Kurt can hear the hums of all kinds of machinery, the soft voices of staff, the click of heels against tiled floors, and the occasional ding of the elevator down the hall. The scent of bleach and lemon-scented cleaner burns his nose.

There are no choirs of singing birds or orchestras of crickets. Kurt can’t hear the wind blowing through the trees or the soft pitter-patter of the rain hitting the roof. He’s on the fourth floor. Seven stories stack above him. Kurt opens his eyes and looks towards the window behind Finn.

He can see the parking lot. It stretches out in both directions, seemingly wrapping all the way around the building. Rows upon rows of cars crowd white-lined parking spaces. Beyond the parking lot is a fast-moving, jam-packed highway. _Toronto has way more traffic than Lima,_ Kurt thinks clinically.  Kurt can count the number of trees he sees on both hands.

“Hey buddy, I brought you some dinner.” Burt’s voice startles Kurt.

Kurt looks at his father’s haggard face and says, “Thanks.” Burt drags over the lap stand and waits for Kurt to situate himself before setting it over Kurt’s lap. Kurt picks up the plastic fork and stirs it through the limp-looking lettuce. He spears a too-soft tomato wedge and bites off a small piece.

“Did you get any more sleep?” Burt asks.  

Kurt shakes his head. The tomato tastes wrong. He swallows the chunk in his mouth then sets down his fork. “No.” His eyes skitter across his dad’s body then settle on his face. Tear blister at the corners of Kurt’s eyes.

Burt jaw goes tight. Kurt’s gaze flickers to Finn for a brief second, and before he can take another breath, Burt says, “Finn, could you go take a walk, please.” It’s not a question.

Chin jerking up and down, Finn fumbles from his chair. “Yeah.” He swipes his iPod from the narrow window ledge and shuffles from the room.

Burt waits a few moments before facing Kurt again. The rock in Kurt’s chest expands to a basketball.  Burt doesn’t say anything. He leans forward, knees bumping against the railing on Kurt’s bed, and takes Kurt’s hand.

Kurt bursts into tears. 

“Oh Kurt,” Burt whispers softly. He lifts the tray off Kurt’s lap, sets it on the floor, then tugs Kurt into his chest. Kurt sobs. His body shakes and his fingers curl and uncurl in his father’s shirt.

Burt pets through Kurt’s hair and cups at his neck. He doesn’t say anything, just holds Kurt close. When the soft touch isn’t as comforting as Kurt needs, Kurt moves in closer, pressing his forehead into the curve of his father’s collar. The clip for the heart-rate monitor snaps off his finger and the machine starts beeping manically. Kurt ignores it.  

The smell of car grease and engine oil is strong, ingrained in Burt’s skin. _He hasn’t taken a shower in two days, since he got the call that I was here at the hospital._ The thought slips into Kurt’s grief and works like a soothing agent. Kurt’s sobs die. The beat of his father’s heart pulses against Kurt’s chest. _We’re all alive, and that’s what matters._

Kurt lifts his head. Burt has tears in his eyes. “Dad,” Kurt whispers, voice hoarse and sorrowful.

Burt leans back, one hand still clutching Kurt’s shoulder, and drags his sleeve across his face. “It’s okay buddy,” he says.

 _No it’s not,_ Kurt thinks.

“I’m just so glad you’re alive.”

His dad’s words bring a fresh wave of tears. Kurt presses forward again, wrapping his arms around Burt’s body. “I missed you,” Kurt says.

Burt’s breath shudders into Kurt’s hair. “Me too.” Burt draws him in tighter.

A knock on the door breaks them apart. Kurt wipes his face with his hospital gown and looks past his father’s body to the woman at the door. Red hair frames her pale face, curling in a slight wave at her shoulders. A peach-pink sweater covers her thin top. A khaki colored pencil skirt clings around her knees. A simple pearl necklace completes her Betty-Crocker housewife image.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, voice even higher pitched than Kurt’s. She takes a step inside, uninvited. “I’m Emma Pillsbury, one of the hospital’s psychologists.”

Burt rises, but Kurt holds onto his father’s wrist, stopping him from moving forward. “The doctor told us you were coming,” Burt says in way of greeting. He doesn’t pull out of Kurt’s grip to shake her hand despite the fact Kurt knows his father is usually polite. 

The woman steps inside, coming to Burt. The second she’s in range, Burt offers his free hand. Kurt gets a whiff of floral perfume. His stomach flip-flops, and his fingers spasm around his dad’s wrist. Burt’s chest rises as he takes a deep breath.

“You must be Kurt,” the woman says with a soft smile. She holds out her hand. Kurt swallows, trying to calm his suddenly pounding heart, then slips his hand into hers for a brief shake. “You can call me Emma.”

Kurt nods, but can’t work a smile onto his face to greet her.

“Here,” Burt says, offering his chair. He reaches for the chair Finn abandoned and starts to drag it close.

She smiles, but sympathy shines from her eyes. “Thank you Mr. Hummel…”

“Burt, please.”

“Burt,” she says softly. “But, I would like to speak to Kurt alone first, if that’s possible.”

Kurt’s head jerks towards his dad. _No,_ he thinks. _I don’t want to be alone._ Burt’s mouth pulls into a frown.

“You can wait right outside Burt,” Ms. Pillsbury says, voice still sweet and soft. “Kurt and I will talk for a few minutes, and if he doesn’t feel comfortable, you can come back inside.”

Burt twists, arm still in Kurt’s clutch, and squeezes his son’s shoulder. Kurt’s gaze flickers to the red headed shrink back to his dad. _Please don’t leave,_ he thinks. The words lie heavy at the back of his mouth, but for some reason Kurt can’t push them forward. Burt steps from Kurt’s grip and nods towards the woman. “I’ll be right outside,” he says, both as an assurance to Kurt and a warning to the psychologist.

Ms. Pillsbury follows him to the door, easing it towards the frame. She doesn’t close it, just leaves it ajar. Kurt curls his knees back to his chest and wraps his arms around them. His grip is tight enough to make his arms ache. A lump settles in his throat as the red-headed stranger sits in his father’s abandoned chair.

“Hi Kurt,” she say, slipping her clipboard between her own thigh and the armrest of the chair. She doesn’t offer her hand for a shake, instead she lays her wrists at the place behind her kneecaps. “I’m Emma.”

Kurt can’t muster up a smile, but he does manage, “Hi.”

She starts with a stupid question. “How are you feeling Kurt?”

Kurt almost laughs. _How am I feeling?_ Kurt glances at his arm, where the snake bite is covered by a large beige bandage. He can’t see the one on his leg, the hem of his dressing gown covers that, but both spots are still sore. Purple bruises his upper arm as well, where the IV of anti-venom had been pumping through his system for the better part of the last forty-eight hours. His whole body aches, though his fever had broken by the time his Dad had flown in from Lima.

And that’s just his body. Inside, Kurt feels like he’s been shredded alive. Dave’s face, his quirky half-smile, his frown all pass through Kurt’s mind. His awkward conversations with Finn, with Carole, and his Dad have left him feeling as if he’s been walking over hot coals. Kurt wants nothing more than to curl up in his father’s arms back home in his own bed and hide from the world.

Kurt shrugs. “Fine,” he answers. Emma’s lips press together and her thin eyebrows dip over her nose. “Been better,” Kurt amends ruefully.

She leans forward a bit, her knees pressing together, and says, “Kurt, you’ve been missing for a month, kidnapped by a strange man and held against your will. I think ‘been better’ is an understatement.”

It’s like a slap in the face. Anger pushes some of Kurt’s hurt to the background. “What do you want me to say? That I’m ready to start crying any moment? That seeing my step-brother and Dad and step-mother makes me want to scream in frustration because I’ve never felt so uncomfortable around my family?” Suddenly, his eyes are burning. Kurt blinks furiously. _Don’t cry._ “Do you want to hear that I’m terrified to go back to school, back home? That I can’t stop thinking about what people are going to say?”

Kurt jerks his face across the shoulder of his dressing gown. Wetness smears across his nose. Fingers brush along his forearm. Kurt jerks again, flinching away from the psychologist’s touch. “Don’t,” Kurt snarls.

“Kurt,” Emma says. Sadness and sympathy are evident in her voice. “This isn’t going to be easy. You’ve been through something horrific. It isn’t going to be a smooth adjustment back to your old life.” She reaches out again, fingers against his knee this time. “You might not ever fit back into your old life.”

Fear slices through Kurt’ chest. _You might not ever fit back into your old life._ Her words echo across his mind.

“Kurt.” His name blasts across the room. He looks up and gets caught in her wide gaze. “David is a very troubled man. He hurt you, and like any injury, it needs time heal. Things aren’t going to magically get better. It’s going to take time, and in the end you will probably have a scar.”

 _David._ Hearing his name on her lips feels strange. It brings his captor to mind. Inhaling, Kurt asks slowly, “What’s going to happen to him?” Kurt doesn’t remember the police coming to take Dave, but he remembers waking to the Canadian officer waiting outside his room when he woke up in the ICU.

“He’s being held in county jail for the moment. He’ll be transferred to New York at the end of the week before being placed in an Ohio prison.” Kurt imagines Dave in prison. He imagines the small cell and orange jumpsuit. All the air in the room seems to disappear. Emma misreads him. “Kurt, don’t worry. He’ll go to trial, but there’s no way he won’t be found guilty. He isn’t going to be let free. He won’t get you again.”

Kurt shakes his head and moves back on the bed, escaping her touch. “No,” he says. He meets her eyes. “What Dave did was wrong, but he doesn’t deserve to be in prison.” Kurt thinks of Dave’s mom, about the men who locked him, a child, in a room with no windows. “He needs help.”

The redhead’s jaw goes tight. “Kurt,” she says his name again, but this time it doesn’t jerk Kurt from his thoughts. “You shouldn’t worry about Dave. He’ll be evaluated, and if he needs to been in a ward instead of prison, we’ll make that happen.”

 _A ward. Where crazy people live._ Kurt tries to imagine Dave walking down colorless halls, drugged to the gills, without trees and animals and his garden. His stomach rolls. Kurt’s feet slip off the bed. The tiled floor of the hospital room chills his skin. “Ms. Pillsbury,” Kurt doesn’t finish. She cuts him off.

“Kurt,” her voice is sharp, “have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?”

He grinds his teeth together and nods.

Despite his answer, she says, “It’s when some is kidnapped and develops a relationship, or sympathy for their kidnapper. It’s common with someone who’s been captive as long as you have, especially with someone like Dave, who showed you some kindness.”

 _Dave loved me. Loves me,_ Kurt thinks. _Dave’s action might not be healthy or right, but he meant no harm._ “Can I see him?” Kurt asks, question popping out of his mouth.

Emma shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a great idea Kurt.”

 _I’m sick of being told what to think,_ Kurt fumes silently. _I’m sick of doctors checking over me every five seconds and Finn looking at me like I’m about to break down._ His fingers curl into fists. _I just want everything to go back the way it was._

“Let me restate that,” Kurt says. He can’t stop his anger from leeching into his tone. “I need to see Dave. I need to talk to him.”

The psychologist stands. She tucks her hands under her arms and frowns. “Kurt, you’re at a delicate stage in your healing and seeing your captor isn’t healthy.”

“I don’t care about what’s healthy!” Kurt shouts.

The door suddenly swings open and Burt steps inside. “Is everything alright?” he asks.

“Kurt is just asking to see David Karofsky, and I was telling him that I think it’s too soon.”

Burt frowns and Kurt immediately knows what side his father is on. “Buddy, I think you should stay as far away from that guy as possible.”

“I know what you think,” Kurt says, directing his words more towards his dad than the psychologist, “but I need to see him.” Both adults look doubtful, so Kurt adds, “I just need to make sure he’s behind bars.” Then in a softer voice Kurt says, “I need to feel some control.”

Burt caves. “Oh buddy,” he says, voice raspy and tight. He bypasses the psychologist and beelines for Kurt. His arms wrap around Kurt’s body. The familiar scent of his father’s body curls around Kurt as he presses his head into Burt’s chest.

 _Oh great, I’m crying again,_ Kurt thinks sadly. Emma says something that Kurt doesn’t catch, but he doesn’t care. His dad is here and he’s going to get what he wants.

###

“Maybe this isn’t such a great idea,” Burt says as the police officer slides his keycard through the slot by the door. It unlocks with a soft click. Both Hummels stand in the open frame as the officer steps inside.

“You coming?” he asks, tone sharp. The officer’s uniform is wrinkled and dark circles hang under his eyes.

 _He looks like he’s had a long day,_ Kurt thinks, just to keep his mind off of who’s down the narrow hall before them.

Burt puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do this,” he says.

 _Yes I do._ There are ten cells total, five on either side of the hall. They’re just as Kurt imagined—bare-boned rooms and slotted metal bars.

“He’s in the last cell on the right,” the officer says, pointing towards the end of the hall.

Kurt can’t see him from the door. There’s a gray haired man in the cell to left, passed out on the cot in his cell. He can make out the feet of another man in the third cell on his right. All the other cells Kurt can see are empty. Heart pounding in his chest, Kurt closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he simply says. Mouth dry, his next words are difficult to get out. “Dad, can you wait here?” He knows that the officer has to come down with him, they were explained that rule, but Burt on the other hand…

“What? No way. I’m not letting you face him on your own.”

“Dad,” Kurt says, sharper than he intended. “I need to tell him some things, and I can’t do that with you behind me.” Then, softer, Kurt adds, “ _Please_.”

Burt inhales, and Kurt knows he won. “Officer Maddison will be right behind you if anything happens,” Burt says.

Kurt glances at the officer out of the corner of his eye. _I don’t think Officer Maddison will be any help if something did happen._ The man’s eyes keep fluttering open and shut, as if every moment is struggle to stay awake. “Okay,” he says again. _Do it,_ Kurt tells himself, _before you can’t._

Kurt walks. The tennis shoes Carole bought him from the shopping center next to the hospital squeak against the tiled floor. They feel heavy and stiff against Kurt’s feet, despite the thick socks he’s wearing. His feet slow the closer he gets to the last cell. _Breathe._

He sees Dave before Dave sees him. His captor is wearing a familiar dirt-spattered blue t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. His feet are bare, though his boots sit on the floor at the end of the cot. Dave’s feet hang over the side, legs too long for the bed. His eyes are closed. _He looks awful,_ Kurt thinks. Despite his apparent nap, dark circles puff under Dave’s eyes. The man appears to have lost a few pounds; his face seems pale and gaunt.

 _How can he look so bad? It’s only been a few days._ Kurt glances down the hallway. His dad stares anxiously at him and begins to sway forward. Kurt snaps his attention back to the cell. Officer Maddison’s breaths are loud and deep behind him. Kurt hopes the sound masks the pounding of his heart.

Tentatively, Kurt steps up to the bars. “Dave?” he whispers, soft as a mouse.

Dave jerks awake. “Kurt?”  he says, jumping to his feet. Before Kurt can gasp, Dave’s at the bars, saying his name again. “Kurt!”

The officer steps closer, hand curled around his baton. “It’s okay,” Kurt says. The man steps back, though his hand doesn’t move.

Kurt looks back to Dave. “You’re alive,” Dave says. His fingers brush against Kurt’s for a brief second, before falling against his own sides. Tears fill his eyes. “They wouldn’t tell me. I asked, but they would tell me what happened to you.” The last words are said between a sob. Kurt’s heart lurches.

“I’m alive,” Kurt says, voice thick. “You got me to the hospital in time.”

Dave nods and wipes his eyes against his sleeve. He spares a brief glance at the officer then glues his eyes back to Kurt. “I’m glad you’re alright.” The words are said casually, but they pack meaning. _I love you. I was so afraid you were going to die._ Kurt thinks the things Dave really means. _I’d do anything for you._

Grief squeezes Kurt’s throat. “My dad is here,” he says.

Dave presses his lips together, stretching his jaw tight, and nods. “I’m glad he’s here for you.” _I’m sorry I’m not._

They stare at each other in silence. Officer Maddison shifts back and forth behind Kurt, waiting. It’s difficult, looking at Dave, seeing him here in the little cage. His captor has always been a larger than life presence, filling up Kurt’s thoughts and space.

Dave interrupts the silence first. “Do you know what’s going to happen to me?” he asks, voice tired and resigned.

 _He sounds like a boy,_ Kurt thinks. It’s then that he remembers that Dave is only twenty-one. Most guys his age are out consuming alcohol, having sex, and making mistakes. When Kurt doesn’t respond, Dave nods, as if he’s accepting a death sentence.  _What he did was wrong, he should have never taken me_ , Kurt tells himself. The lump in his stomach presses into his throat. _He was just scared himself. Scared to be alone, scared of the darkness in the world._

“You’ll go to trial,” Kurt says eventually, repeating what the psychologist told him. “I don’t think you’ll go to jail. More than likely you’ll be instituted.” Dave nods again, but Kurt catches the horror that flashes through his eyes before Dave looks towards the ground. _He was just trying to save me. Help me in a way he knew how. He never really hurt me._

“I don’t care,” Dave says suddenly. “I don’t care what happens to me.” He raises his gaze and Kurt can’t look away.  “I just want you to be happy.”

Tears burn down Kurt’s cheeks. “I will be,” Kurt says, voice shaky. “My dad loves me.” Then as an afterthought, Kurt adds, “I missed them Dave. I missed my family and friends.” Dave nods then tucks his fingers under his arms.

“I know.” The words are whispered; Kurt can barely hear them. 

He takes a step back, needing some space, and bumps into the policeman. “Sorry,” Kurt says, eyes never leaving Dave.

“It’s okay kid,” Office Maddison replies. Something sharp pokes at Kurt’s arm. He glances down and sees the man’s keycard half out of his pocket. A dark thought slips into Kurt’s brain.

 _No,_ Kurt tells himself. He rocks forward and on the downward sweep, he presses his heel into the man’s boot. “Sorry!” he apologizes again, hand reaching out to grip the officer’s arm. “I’m still a little unsteady.” He motions towards the bandage around his hand. Officer Maddison looks toward the wound. Kurt slips the keycard into his palm then turns, hiding the plastic in front of him.

The man gives him a half-hearted smile and says, “You almost ready?”

Kurt nods. “Just one more thing.” Kurt steps up to the cell again and slips his hands through the bars. “Dave,” he calls out softly.

Dave looks at him, eyes narrowed in confusion. Kurt motions him forward with the curl of a finger. Dave comes closer, chest inches from Kurt’s hand. Kurt eases his palm open and flashes the card. “Thank you,” Kurt whispers. Dave’s eyes widen in surprise, but he covers Kurt’s hand with both of his. The plastic slips from Kurt’s grip. Dave fingers squeeze his. They feel warm and big against Kurt’s skin.

Kurt doesn’t let the moment linger. He moves backwards. Dave’s arms fall to his side. Kurt can’t make out the keycard at all. He turns to the policeman and jerks his head. They walk down the hall, shoes tapping against the floor.

“Feel any better?” Burt asks, slipping his arm around Kurt’s shoulders. His dad feels solid against Kurt’s side.

“Yeah, I do. I’m glad I came.”

When they get outside, Burt asks, “Ready to go home?”

Kurt nods.

“Well, let’s get back to the hospital, get your stuff and go home.” Burt smiles, like just the sight of Kurt can cause nothing less.

Kurt smiles back. _And what will be will be._


	17. Chapter 17

** Part 17 **

Kurt doesn’t know his dad is home when he slams the front door.

“Kurt?” Burt asks loudly, his voice questioning.

 _Oh,_ Kurt thinks. He presses the back of his head against the hard surface of the entrance and squeezes his eyes shut. _Breathe,_ he tells himself. _Breathe, and don’t cry._ The corners of his eyes are already wet.

“I thought you were going to the mall with Mercedes?” Kurt knows the instant his dad enters the foyer, because his volume drops and his next question morphs from curiosity to worry. “Kurt, what happened?”

It’s stupid; Kurt knows it, but he can’t stop himself from reacting. _Puck, you know Finn’s friend and Mercedes’ new boyfriend? Well, he laughed and bobbed his head. I couldn’t help but think of Noah, my rooster._ Kurt’s chest stutters with an aborted laugh, because even the explanation sounds ridiculous inside his head. 

“Kurt,” Burt says again, and this time Kurt opens his eyes.

“I’m okay,” Kurt defends on instinct. He sucks in a mouthful of air.

Burt’s hand curls around his shoulder. “You’re not okay.” Kurt’s eyes flutter open. “Maybe you should start seeing the counselor again.”

“No!” Kurt shouts. He jerks forward, slipping past his dad and stomps into the living room. “I said I’m fine!” Kurt knows it isn’t the smartest thing to do, but his brain isn’t working properly. He storms up the steps to his bedroom and throws himself on his bed. The soft material of his comforter clogs Kurt’s nose, but he doesn’t care.

The floorboards creak as his dad comes upstairs. “Kurt.” Burt’s voice has sharpened, but Kurt still doesn’t respond to the steel.

Instead, Kurt tries to calm himself. _Breathe,_ he tells himself again. Sobs stutter inside his chest. _Think of something pleasant._ It’s one of the techniques the counselor had taught him- when you can’t handle what’s going on, focus on something else.

Unbidden, the memory of making dinner in Dave’s cabin flashes to mind. It was one of the evenings before the trip to the natural amphitheater. Dave had puttered around the cabin, sweeping and cleaning, while Kurt stirred a sauce pan full of brightly colored vegetables. Kurt remembers opening the lid to a pot of rice, and Dave said, “Smells good.” They ate dinner in relative silence. Kurt could hear the melodies of the forest-crickets, owls, and the song of the softly blowing wind. Afterwards, Dave washed the dishes while Kurt dried, then they settled in for the evening to read.

“Kurt.” A hand presses into Kurt’s back. Kurt rolls over. He looks up at his father, but has to close his eyes, unable to bare the worry etched across Burt’s face. “Tell me,” Burt says. His hand brushes across Kurt’s hair, stroking.

 _I’m almost seventeen. That shouldn’t be so comforting,_ Kurt thinks. He leans into his father’s touch anyway. “I just…” Kurt begins. Emotion swirls in his chest, a combination of grief, sadness, and fear. He shifts, pushing himself upwards, looking again. He presses against the backboard of his bed, letting the hard surface keep him from falling apart. “I thought it would get easier,” Kurt says. The bed dips as Burt sits. “It’s been three months.” _I thought going home would fix everything._

Burt doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his words take Kurt by surprise. “Are you afraid that he’s going to come back for you?”

“No!”

Kurt answers at the same time Burt says, “I can call the police station, ask if we can get them to start their watch again.”

“No,” Kurt says again, “Dave would have already come for me if he wanted.” During the long weeks of police surveillance, Dave hasn’t been spotted anywhere near Lima, near Kurt. The call had come before they even reached home- that Dave had escaped the Canadian jail. Burt had flipped out, and by the time their SUV pulled into the Hummel-Hudson driveway, a cop car was parked outside.

Burt nods, and a thought slips through Kurt’s mind. _What’s three months compared the years Dave watched and planned?_ Aloud, Kurt says, “I just want things to be normal. I want to be able to go to school without everyone staring at me. I want my friends to stop treating me like I’m dying. I want food to taste good again, and for the air to smell clean.” Tears slip down Kurt’s cheeks. He gives a soft snort. “Who would have thought I’d miss the days where I was thrown in the dumpster?”

“Jesus, Kurt.” Burt wraps his arms around Kurt’s body and pulls him into his chest. Kurt drops his head onto his father’s shoulder. “What can I do for you?”

Kurt shakes his head. There’s really nothing that his father can do to make it better. Having him around helps. It makes Kurt feel not so alone, but even Burt treats him differently. He treats Kurt like he’s porcelain- fragile and strange.  “Do you think I’ll ever feel normal again?”

He feels Burt tense. _Searching for the right thing to say._ On one hand, Kurt wants to his dad to lie. He wants Burt to say everything is going to be okay. On the other hand, Kurt doesn’t want to be coddled. He so damn _tired_ of being coddled.

“Honestly,” Burt whispers, “I don’t know.”

Kurt nods and swallows back tears. “Can I be alone?”

Burt sucks in a mouthful of air, but shakes his head. “Okay.” His hand rubs one final circle against Kurt’s back, then his fingers slide away. The bed eases upwards as Burt stands. Kurt watches his dad walk toward the hall. “Kurt,” Burt says, wavering. “You need to tell me if something is wrong. I can’t help you otherwise.”

“I will.” _There’s nothing you can do._ “I love you,” Kurt calls out.

Burt smiles. “I love you, too, Buddy.” He eases the door shut. “I’ll be downstairs if you need _anything_.”

“Thank you,” Kurt replies softly. There’s a short click as Burt closes the door, then Kurt’s alone.

A car passes by the house, engine roaring. Kurt presses his face into his pillow trying to block it out. When that doesn’t work, he rolls over and flips on his radio. Adele’s sings out and Kurt takes a deep breath before sliding from his bed.

His Chucks indent the carpet as he walks toward his dresser. The edges of the piece are smooth and sleek.  He got it from at Ikea last year, and the sharp, modern edges of the thing don’t stand to the craftsmanship of the dresser Dave made for him. Kurt opens the bottom drawer; it slides out with little effort. He digs through socks and underwear until his hands meet plastic. It crinkles, seemingly loud, and Kurt glances around.

 _Don’t be stupid._ There’s no way his dad can hear the sound from downstairs, especially with the television on.

He slips the bag from the drawer and settles onto the floor. The weight of it isn’t heavy, lying across his thighs. It’s clear, so the contents are easy to see. Kurt can feel the fabric of the folded jeans through the plastic; he can see the dark purple shirt tucked under the jeans. He doesn’t see the gray briefs or the white socks sandwiched in-between, but he knows they’re there. The only thing not in the bag is the thick pair of boots Dave gave him. Those are in Kurt’s closet, hidden amongst the mountain of all his other shoes.  

Slowly, and as quietly as possible, Kurt unzips the bag and pulls out the jeans. There’s still a woodsy scent to them. A combination of dirt and sweat, and that fresh air smell that Kurt can’t seem to find anywhere in Lima, Ohio. He tucks his fingers along the fold of the cloth, right behind the knees. Careful not to touch any of the dirty spots, Kurt brings the jeans to his nose.

He closes his eyes and pictures the empty outdoors of the Canadian wilderness. He remembers smelling like this after a morning in the garden. The scent of the earth, of the chickens and vegetables clung to both his and Dave’s skin. At the time, Kurt would have killed for a bottle of raspberry body wash, but now, his nose twitches at the artificial scents that pollute his hometown.  Kurt breathes in the jeans again and tries to even remember the smell of the grass after a night of rain.

It’s not as clear as it once was.  

Carefully, Kurt sets the jeans on his lap. His thumb drags over the pocket of the rough fabric. He can’t stop himself from rubbing circles along the seam.

Next, he takes out the shirt. The polyester blend is much softer than the jeans. Kurt brings it to his face and rubs the shirt across his cheek. The scent of sweat is stronger here. The heavy smell of his own body, still startling strong without the enhancements of lotion or cologne, hits his nose. Kurt takes another breath. Dave’s scent, forceful, masculine and heavy, washes over his skin.

He tingles, partly from fear, because he knows what he’s doing is wrong, and partly because for some strange reason, Kurt _misses_ Dave. His counselor told him that Emma Pillsbury was right; that he has a form of Stockholm Syndrome. Despite the diagnosis, and despite the fact he knows he doesn’t want to live in the wilderness with Dave, Kurt feels this overwhelming sense of wrongness here in Lima. He itches deep within his soul, and his skin doesn’t fit anymore. Even the things he once did for enjoyment- shopping, watching movies, gossiping- don’t feel the same.

He folds the shirt and sets it on top of the jeans. _I should have burned them when I said I did,_ Kurt thinks. He knows it isn’t healthy to dwell like this. His fingers skim the outside of the plastic bag before sliding inside again. Something silky soft grazes his skin and he jerks his hand out in surprise.

“What the…?” Kurt flips the bag upside down and shakes out the socks and underwear. Purple catches his eye. Kurt lifts up the socks, and suddenly, he can’t breathe.

At a snail’s pace, Kurt reaches out and picks up the flower. It’s a little thing, soft petals spreading out no further than the palm of his hand. One of them is crushed, bent like a dog ear marking a page in a book. Kurt straightens the crooked petal, pressing it between his thumb and forefinger. He raises it upwards, catching it in the light of his window.

It isn’t the first time he’s seen that little purple flower. There were many mornings Kurt woke in the cabin and found them in a vase on the kitchen table. Bouquets of them made their way onto Kurt’s nightstand, along with Dave’s hesitant half-smile and a soft, “Good morning.”

Heart pounding, and flower held delicately in his hand, Kurt rises to his feet. He looks around his bedroom taking in any space someone could hide. “Dave?” Kurt says softly.

There’s no answer. 

Kurt slides open his closet door and peers inside. He sees clothes and shoes and even a few bags. No bodies.

 _It could have been in the pocket of the jeans and fell out._ Kurt’s held the jeans a thousand times since they were returned from the police. There was no flower.

Slowly, Kurt walks around his room. He sweeps every surface, every space, looking for clues. He passes by his window three times before he notices it. The lock is open. _I know I locked it last week when we had that storm._ He pushes open the window.

His breath catches in his throat.

The frame of his screen is bent. Kurt touches the peaked metal. His eyes scan outside, looking for… well, _something_. A few feet from his window caked to the roof tiles is a muddy footprint. His chest stutters, and he stumbles backwards.

“Kurt!” Burt’s voice is like slap to the face. Kurt whirls around then takes a shaky breath when he realizes that his dad isn’t in the room. “Come downstairs and watch TV with me. That movie you like, the one with Goldie Hawn’s daughter is on.”  

Kurt glances at the flower in his hand then back outside to the footprint. “I’ll be down in a minute,” he shouts back.

“Okay. I’ll make some of that low fat popcorn you like.” The pantry door creaks open.

Goosebumps prickle his flesh. Kurt brings the flower to his lips. The petals feel like silk. Kurt’s eyes fall shut and he shudders. _He risked himself to let me know he still cares._ Kurt knows it’s wrong. He knows that Dave really does need help, but to matter more than anything else, to be the sole focus of all that attention… _Dave would do anything for me. He did do anything for me._

Kurt yanks open his nightstand door and shuffles around for a scotch tape dispenser. He sticks a few pieces to the back of his hand. He presses the flower to the top left corner of the window, then carefully layers the tape over the stem and cool glass. When he’s done, Kurt steps back to look.

 _It should be visible from the street._

He rolls his shoulders, suddenly feeling much lighter. A movie with his dad sounds perfect. Just before he leaves, he glances back to look at the flower, one more time. Then he heads downstairs.

 

###

 

Faurot Park is dark. Kurt eases his SUV around the curve of the road, keeping his eyes peeled in the stream of his headlights. The last thing he wants is to hit a deer. Snow falls lightly onto his windshield, the first of the season, and his wipers make a soft whoop-whoop sound as they swipe across the glass.

“Come on, where are you?” Kurt says softly, looking for the sign that marks the entrance to the picnic area. The whole park is deserted. The blast of winter weather combined with the early setting sun has everyone heading for home by six. It’s only half past eight now, not late by most people’s standards, but besides the tiny ranger’s station located at the front of the park, there aren’t any lights anywhere in the park.

Kurt almost drives past the sign. He only sees it because his headlights catch the metal rope that stretches across the parking lot entrance to his left. _How am I supposed to get in?_ Kurt turns his car into the entrance of the lot, pressing down on the brakes before he hits the chain. He tries for the three point turn, trying to get the length of his car out of the main road and into the small space of the entrance. He ends up the tail end of the SUV poking out into the road.

 _It doesn’t matter anyway. No one is going to be driving here._ The Ranger’s station was empty, employees tucked away after a Thanksgiving Day feast. _I hope Dad doesn’t call Mercedes,_ Kurt thinks as he cuts the engine and tucks the car keys into his pocket. A blast of wind howls through the trees and his car door slams shut. Kurt winces and looks around.

“Who’s going to hear it?” Kurt whispers. _Besides the person I want to?_  He drags his zipper up to his chin and tugs on his gloves. His ears are already cold, and he’s sure his nose and cheeks are rosy red. He eases his scarf from the collar of his coat and rearranges it so the soft material covers most of his ears and face.

Despite the utter darkness, headlights now gone, Kurt knows where he’s going. He’s come this way a dozen times in the past two weeks. When the pavement of the parking lot turns into the uneven path of grass and dirt, Kurt takes out the flashlight in his pocket. It’s a mini one, so it doesn’t light up much, but it’s enough that Kurt doesn’t trip.

He walks through the barren soccer field, past the decade old wooden playground, and keeps going past the picnic area. He’s never seen the park empty. The wind through the trees and his own breaths are the only sounds. Something that feels like fear curls around Kurt’s heart. _What if I’m wrong?_ Kurt doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s wrong. _I’m not wrong._

There’s a stretch of flat ground, then Kurt’s heading downhill. He crosses over the dirt walking path. The area goes from friendly park to woodland forest. Most of the trees are leafless skeletons, branches tangled together above Kurt’s head. There are some winter pines, and old pinecones litter the ground. A fine layer of snow is already kissing the tops of the low bushes by Kurt’s feet.

He stops walking and starts to wait. His breath curls like smoke around his nose, heating his skin with every puff. He cups his hands around his mouth to capture the warmth. Kurt doesn’t wait long. It’s only been about five minutes when a voice calls out, “Kurt?”

Kurt’s heart leaps into his throat. He swings the flashlight to his right. Even in the pale stream of light, the man’s dark green jacket blends into the night.

“Hi Dave.” Kurt’s back snaps straight. The last time he had seen him, the man was behind bars. Kurt shines the light onto Dave’s face. _He looks thinner_. His jaw juts out on either side of his face, looking sharp. A light dusting of facial hair covers the lower half of his face.

“What are you doing here?” Dave asks. He takes a step closer, and his hand reaches out. Halfway to Kurt, his fingers drop and Dave stuffs both hands into his coat pockets. “It’s snowing,” he adds, sounding utterly lost.

Kurt ignores the question and the statement. Instead, he says, “You’ve been following me.” _Stalking me._ “I found the flower.” Dave nods. _He saw that I put it in the window,_ Kurt thinks. “I figured you were here.” _Living in the one forested area in Lima. Living where we first met._

“I saw your SUV,” Dave says in response. A hard gust of wind has Kurt shivering. The flashlight drops from his fingers. He reaches down to pick it up. Dave’s hand closes over his. Kurt jerks backwards, Dave doesn’t let go. “You look good,” Dave whispers. His breath is warm against Kurt’s cheek.

Kurt swallows. “I don’t feel good,” he says, voice rough. Dave frowns, and suddenly, Kurt’s angry. “You messed me up Dave.” Hot tears slide down his face. “I’m screwed up. The whole time you had me I wanted nothing more than to be home - home with friends and family. Then finally, I’m here, and nothing’s the same.” Kurt sucks in air, and cuts off a sob. He curls his hand into a fist and slams it against Dave’s chest. The man coughs in surprise, but doesn’t move.

“I hate it. I hate this town. I hate the malls and my friends. I hate the way they look at me and judge.” Kurt looks at the other boy. There are tears in his eyes, too. “I hate myself and I hate you.”

“Kurt…” His name falls from Dave’s mouth like a tortured plea.

Kurt digs his fingers into Dave coat, yanks him forward, and smashes their lips together. Dave grunts, surprised, but then his hand is in Kurt’s hair, holding his head in place. Dave’s lips are chapped and rough. Kurt bites at them.

It isn’t sweet, and when Dave’s thumb starts to rub circles into Kurt’s neck and he tries to smooth out the kiss, Kurt tears his mouth away. “Don’t,” he says. The word sounds like a curse. Both of their chests rise and fall as they pant like racehorses. Kurt can feel a distinct hardness against his hip. “Don’t be nice.”

Dave shakes his head. “I don’t want you to hurt. I love you too much,” he says, voice small.

Kurt snorts. It’s an ugly sound. He drags his gloved hand through his hair. “I know, Dave.” _And that’s the problem._ “I don’t think that anyone will ever love me the way you do.”

Dave isn’t stupid. He knows the words aren’t a compliment. “I’m not here to take you,” he says, surprising Kurt. “I know you can’t live like that. It was wrong of me to make you try. I just… I just needed to see you.”

This time, Kurt laughs. It’s an aborted chuckle that’s just as bad as his snort. “Why shouldn’t you see me? I see you every time I close my eyes.” Kurt curls his arms around his chest and stares at Dave. Tears are running down the bigger man’s face.

“How can I make this better?” Dave asks.  It’s the same question everyone else in Kurt’s life has been asking for months.

 _Leave, never come back._ Kurt thinks, but he knows that won’t fix anything. Never seeing Dave again won’t change the past. “I think you should try and get some help,” Kurt says.

Fear darkens Dave’s face. “Why can’t you help me?”

 _He didn’t deny the need for help._ “Dave,” Kurt says, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Dave’s forearm. “I can barely help myself. I can’t help you.”

A shuddering breath shakes Dave’s body. “If I go to one of those…places, will you come visit me?”

Hesitantly, Kurt nods. Dave moves fast. One second he’s a foot away, and then his mouth is against Kurt’s. “Promise me,” he says between kissing Kurt and taking a breath. “Promise me you won’t leave me alone.”

 _I promise._ Kurt returns the kiss.

“Say it,” Dave demands, mouth pressed into Kurt’s chin.

“I promise,” Kurt says.

The words knock the strength from Dave’s body. One second he’s standing, then the next he’s sinking to his knees. Kurt follows him. They sit there, on the cold ground, Kurt dry-eyed and feeling empty, and Dave crying, until Kurt can’t feel his legs anymore.

“We need to get up,” Kurt says. Dave doesn’t respond, so Kurt says it again. This time, the other man nods. Kurt’s feet tingle painfully as blood rushes through his limbs. He uses the flashlight to get them back to his car. Kurt turns off the radio and turns up the heat as soon as the SUV rumbles to life.

As warmth creeps back into his body, Kurt looks over at Dave. The man is staring out the passenger side window. Kurt doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. He feels like he’s floating, as if all the anger and fear he’s been holding onto these past few months was left in the snow.

 _The Lima Psychiatric ward is only twenty five minutes from here_ , Kurt thinks. He looks at the clock. _Ten o’clock the night of Thanksgiving._ He’s not even sure if the place will be open. He looks over at Dave again. The man’s eyes have drifted shut. _Guess we’ll find out._

Kurt pulls out onto the road and drives.

 


End file.
